


Solace

by BlueMaple



Series: Harry Potter and the Road Not Taken [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Bogart References, Brazil, Bring the Kleenex, Bullying, Castelobruxo, Catholic Imagery, Christianity, Christmas, Chronicles of Narnia References, Culture Shock, Dark Wankers, Do-Over, Dragons, F/F, F/M, Feels, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Hungarian Horntails, Intrigue, Kipling references, Lethifolds - Freeform, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Male Slash, Mayhem, Metaphors, More TARDISes but again only as cultural references, Mystery, NO religion bashing, Not a Crossover, Phoenixes, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Roman Catholicism, School exchange, Sequel, Slash, Smut, Soulmates, T.S. Eliot (poet) references, TARDISes - Freeform, Teen Sex, Teenage Drama, The Boy With Kaleidoscope Eyes, The Princess Bride References, The Strange Familiar, Wandlore, War, Weddings, all the feels, animagi, fedoras, self-identification, time-travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 261,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8825035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMaple/pseuds/BlueMaple
Summary: Even as the Harry-Potter-Now-Known-As-Ren-Cartwright takes his first tentative steps as the man his own world never allowed him to be, his new world begins to reveal its unique beauties and horrors - and he finds himself not only redefining himself, but everything, and everyone, he ever thought he knew. 'Solace' provides a look at that world through the eyes of another who lived through the history that now defines Ren's future, and provides a greater perspective on how the finer facts and details can, and will change everything... Everything, that is, except for those greatest truths that, no matter the eyes that behold them or the hearts that hold them, shine as light in the darkest depths of the deadliest jungle.Love and lethifolds, hope, horror, and heartbreak, second chances, salvation and self-identification, renewal and redemption, damnation and Dark Wankers,  Malfoys and mayhem, and lots of bloody buggering bollocking swearing. Also, smut. Lots o' smut, and slash. DLDR. Part 4 of 'Harry Potter and the Road Not Taken'.  Read all priors for necessary context.





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> M/F lemons (smut) within the context of the plot. :).
> 
> I take credit for nothing, save for those things I obviously can. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you, always, for your love, support, and reviews. If I don't answer them it's because I'm busy working up my next best way to break all of our hearts and put them back together again...
> 
> xoxoxo BlueMaple

  
  
**Malfoy Manor**

**Wiltshire, England**

**Monday, November 24, 1991**

  
  
Lucius Malfoy went to war on a Tuesday.

It began on the rainy Monday morning with a message. Reclined on their enormous bed, the remains of their mutual breakfast tray and steaming tea set aside, the man in question looked up from kissing his wife's pale, delicate neck to the sound of a small, determined cough.

"Yes, Kippy?" he inquired. "What can we do for you?"

"Kippy is very sorry to interrupt, Master Lucius," the house-elf said primly, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. "But Kippy is receiving a delivery that is needing special delivering. Straight to Master's hand and no others, without delays."

"Ah." Lucius  boosted himself up. Narcissa Malfoy sighed and arranged her pillows and lingerie, settling back and reaching again for her tea as the Lord of the Manor reached courteously for his abandoned sheet and held out his hand.

"It's alright," the Lady of the Manor said to the elf. "We're decent."

The elf muttered something that may or may not have been 'That is being rather a matter of opinion, isn't it,' but Narcissa ignored it. Beside her, her husband pushed back his loosed mass of pale hair and ran a long finger under the seal, unrolling the parchment. Narcissa sipped as he scanned the words within.

"Everything alright?" she asked. Lucius said nothing, just held out the parchment. Her eyes widened slightly as she leaned in and read over his broad, bare shoulder.

"Well," she said after a moment. "It's not surprising, really, is it. All things considered.'

"No," her husband said. "I suppose it isn't." He let the parchment roll shut again. "Tell Polly to tell her master that I will be there at five, Kippy. I'll apparate directly into his back room. In the meantime... Burn this, please."

"Yes, Master Lucius." Kippy summoned it; it snapped into her hand. She popped out. Lucius lay back and closed his eyes. Narcissa set her cup aside and lay beside him, twitching the sheet off of him so that she could survey him properly... At six foot four in his bare feet, she found the mature solidity of her husband's hard, broad-shouldered, long-legged body even more pleasing than it had been ten years ago, when he'd been quite as ripped as Master Lawrence Domitian Cartwright was now. The few pounds he'd gained since then had made a man of him, Narcissa thought; he'd always, with his height, been a bit raw-boned and gangly (the clothes he, or rather she, had chosen accommodating for the fact) but now, at thirty seven, he was just...

Powerful.

Powerful, with the kind of strong natural elegance that all of the European aristocratic elite aspired to, and very few ever achieved without considerable sartorial and magically cosmetic help... His lips tilted up at her. She draped her arm over his chest and stroked the line of his collarbone before trailing down to stroke the surprisingly thick, shining gold mat (several shades darker than his hair, and a near exact match for her own) on his chest with her fingers.

"It's not a coincidence," she said quietly. "It can't be."

"No," Lucius Malfoy said bleakly in return. "It is not."

She propped herself up on her elbow and kissed him slowly. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. A soft tap sounded... Niss Black Malfoy sighed and detached gently, slipping out of the bed. Her husband watched her appreciatively as she went. Slight and delicate as she was, her own long sheet of hair fell straight and untangled down her back to the base of her spine, her ivory negligee skimming the tops of her slim, shapely thighs. She made her way to the window, opening it and retrieving the letter from the wind-blown, rather damp and cross-eyed long-eared owl perched on the sill.

"Poor thing." She offered it a scratch between the ears and a mouse treat from the dish. It hooted mournfully and spiraled off. Narcissa closed the window and returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the blankets. Lucius hoisted himself up and reached for his own tea. His wife snapped the seal on the letter and extracted the contents. He sipped, watching as her eyebrows rose higher and higher.

"May I?" her husband inquired, when she'd done scanning a second time.

"You may." She held it out. He took it and held it unfurled. His own eyes widened.

'Well," he said. "This does change things, doesn't it."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is still the political to be considered, after all. Dobby?"

A beaming elf popped in: shining, groomed and immaculately clad in a crisp dark green tea-towel pinned elegantly with the crest of House Malfoy.

"Good morning, Mistress," Malfoy Manor's head house-elf said happily. Unlike Kippy, he seemed absolutely unperturbed by, or even cognizant of his mistress's scanty attire and her husband's unapologetic and complete nudity. "How may Dobby serve you this repulsive morning? Good morning, Master Lucius!"

"Morning, Dobs," Lucius greeted him amiably. Narcissa poked him reprovingly.

"Master Cartwright will yet be joining us on Wednesday," she said to the elf. "But he will be bringing his fiance. Tea for four, and if you would, send a note to the Weasleys' house elves to determine Charles Weasley's preferred refreshments. Discretion is paramount; we prefer to keep the matter from their humans till we are sure that Master Cartwright and Mr. Weasley have made the announcement to their families themselves."

Dobby's eyes widened hugely. He did not, to his credit, squeak.

"Yes, Mistress Narcissa," he said obediently. "Dobby will be happy to. Is Master Cartwright's engagement being a secret, then?"

"I'm guessing no," Lucius said. "But the announcements can be a matter of some delicacy. You will know when it happens - we all will - because we'll be able to hear Molly Weasley's rabid squealing from here to Ottery St. Catchpole."

"Luke, really. However true that may be..." Narcissa paused. Her husband grinned at her.  "Very well. The point is yours."

"Dobby is on it." The little elf snapped a sharp salute. "Is there being anything else, Mistress? Master?"

"Not right now, thank you."

Dobby cracked out again. Narcissa traced her husband's thigh as her mouth  twisted thoughtfully. Lucius mm'd, and was just about to set the letter aside when he read the signature and dropped his retrieved tea all over the blankets. It self-cleaned automatically of course, but...

"Really, Lucius? What on earth..." She leaned over and read the indicated words.

" _Master-Adept_ Lawrence D. Cartwright?" she read. "Salazar's scrotum; they awarded him a _Grandmastery_?!"

"It would seem so," Lucius said. "A fact that deserves celebrating, would you not say?"

Narcissa arched an eyebrow at him. He lay back and grinned at her hopefully. She rolled her eyes indulgently. A slim silver bangle on her wrist (one of three, and shaped, as they all were, as snakes) uncoiled itself and slipped off, heading straight to its magically designated target... Lucius jumped, yelped, and moaned.

"Ah, Niss..."

"Hands up, my love. You were saying?"  

Lucius just gasped and raised his arms above his head, long elegant fingers curling tightly around the railed headboard as he threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut: his fine, elegant patrician's features taut with anticipation and ever-so-slight, not remotely unwelcome discomfort. The gasp translated to a second guttural moan as the silver snake settled contentedly and tightened its coils just a little. Narcissa reclined comfortably, offering the snake a fond little look before proceeding to the rather obvious agenda. Lucius bucked violently, his hands slipping on the rail. The two remaining bangles - one of rose gold and diamond encrusted, and one a delicate, magically hardened and thinned strand of blown glass - sprang off of his wife's wrist and slithered up the bed to wrap themselves around his wrists and anchor him firmly.

"Niss, _please_!"

"Mmmmno." She adjusted her ivory negligee and sat up, slinging a long, pale leg over him and settling across his bare, muscled upper thighs. "You celebrate once I've celebrated, my lovely." She smiled at him beneath hooded, lazy eyes as the snake around the base of his cock tightened a bit more. "Then we celebrate together." She traced a finger down his gold-matted chest, and trailed a light hand over and around his long, pale cock, catching several pearly droplets and raising her hand to lick them off her fingertips thoughtfully.  "I must say, you do have excellent taste in proxies. As awkward a position as we are in... A triple International Master and a potential double Grandmaster, never mind one with such an absolutely delectable body to go with that obviously delectable mind, will make the inevitable social disparagement considerably less of an issue."

"Nothing but the best for you, my heart," Malfoy managed. He swore in agony as she raised herself, reached down again, positioned herself and slid down hard, all the way, in one hot, slick rush of pure sensation. She leaned forward to kiss him deeply, and without moving, clenched around him, hard and rapidly and repeatedly. He could do nothing but gasp.

"I've always had that," she informed him. "Why would you ever think I'd settle for less for you?" She flicked her fingers. The snakes around his wrists slithered off. "Up."

Lucius released the headboard and flexed neatly, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. She pushed his own hair back and rubbed his bare back gently with both hands, not moving. Narcissa Black Malfoy kissed her husband's closed lids, and the jumping muscle in his jaw, and his lips again.

"Mine," she whispered against his mouth. Then... "Regrets?'

"No. Just a touch of abject fear. I will survive it, I am sure."

"Oh no," she said. "Oh no, my lovely. You will not survive it. You are to _enjoy_ it."

"Niss..."

"Shh." She pulled back a bit and touched his lips with her finger. "However things fell out... Enjoying this will be our best retaliation. They cannot humiliate us, my love, unless we allow it. And insofar as that goes... We have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. If you had it to do over again... If you could go back; if we could go back... Would you trade in the curse for the experience of what we did to earn it?"

"No," Lucius Malfoy said immediately. "Never. Never."

"Nor I." She replaced her finger with her lips.  "So. No regrets. As for the details... They're my concern. You take care of everything else..."  She paused expectantly.

"And you take care of me."

"Always," she said, and pushed him on his back, bringing his lean, elegant hands to her hips and rising up above him as a goddess as she threw her own head back in pleasure and began to  move... The rain came down, and pale, shimmering blond mingled with brilliant gold, and they shone together.

Much later that day, Lucius Malfoy watched from the back room of Ollivander's as, just before closing, the front door opened. The shop was empty, and as if in anticipation, the lock clicked and the window darkened magically. Ollivander looked up from behind the counter. A black case, rather than a box, lay neatly before him. Beside it were two custom-made dark green and silver wand holsters, one designed for the wrist and the second for the boot.

"Mr. Weasley," he greeted the newcomer. Bill Weasley nodded. Malfoy's hand actually came to cover his mouth in dismay as he saw the young man before him. He looked sick and exhausted unto death: not just fragile, but frail. His blue eyes were dull, and his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. The old man came out to meet him as he sat in the chair.

"Would you like some tea?' he inquired gently. "You look a little tired."

"I'm fine," Bill Weasley said, and at Ollivander's raised eyebrow... "I will be. The curses that Master Cartwright removed from me were partial. A stop-job, till he can finish up tomorrow."

"You are sure there is nothing that I can get for you?"

"Just what I came for. They're waiting for me." He jerked his thumb in a vague gesture over his shoulder, across the street and again, vaguely, to the left. Ollivander nodded, but instead of waving him to the counter, brought him the case itself, sitting on the chair beside him and half turning to face him. Bill Weasley's eyes widened as he opened it. It was padded in midnight blue velvet. The wand within...

"What..."

"Ah, ah," Ollivander tutted, pulling the case away. "Not yet."

The curse-breaker withdrew his hand. Olivander actually looked a bit indecisive, and definitely uneasy, but in the end, firmed his mouth.

"I would be remiss if I did not warn you again, Mr. Weasley," he said. "The bonding... There will be a bit of blood involved - nothing Dark: it is merely how it attunes itself to your particular and unique brand of magic - and once the wand has tasted it, it will not spark visibly like another wand would. The spark you will sense will be inside your core. It will be, I am afraid, intensely painful, and is why I suggested we proceed in private. Once it is done, though... The wand will work for none other than you. It will not produce so much as a _lumos_ for another, ever."

"Painful," Bill repeated. His mouth twisted a little with sour... Something. "So noted. What else?"

Ollivander extracted the wand carefully, and set the case aside. "Bloodthorn and phoenix feather. The wand itself is a single unbroken thorn, rather than carved wood. Twelve and three quarters of an inch, and the feather - half burned, half newly formed - was extracted from the ashes of a phoenix on its burning day."

"I've never heard of that before. Bloodthorn, I mean."

"You would not have. It is not a wood, or a plant, typically used by any wandmaker - not in Europe, Asia, or North America, anyway. It is native to South and Central America."

Lucius Malfoy watched as the frail young man - boy, really - processed that.

"Why the hell would I want a wand made from anything that grows there," he said roughly. "Place is cursed. Forsaken by God, if you believe in Him, which after this last week..."

He stopped, struggling.

"The curse is ended," Ollivander said gently. "Or will be, soon enough. You witnessed it yourself. And you were a part of its ending, which means in turn, that anything from that land can do nothing but bless, and be nothing less, than a blessing to you. I know it is hard now, but a phoenix must burn, Mr. Weasley, before it can be reborn, yes? If you can survive this... And I do believe you have that capacity..."

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"I have always suspected," the wandmaker said at last. "Indeed, I told you, when you first came to me as a child, that there was a great deal more to you than meets the eye. Much more than your wand could account for, I thought, even as it chose you, and I suspected that I might very well see you again one day.  Now... Today... You are here again, and I have something more to tell you. I have sent many wands forth from my shop, young man, that were destined to do great things. There have been less than a handful of witches and wizards though, I would say, on the other hand, and I do mean that literally - who, upon bonding with one of those wands, have had the potential to become, not just great themselves, but utterly magnificent. You are... Not might be, but are... One of them."

"I don't..."

Bill struggled again. Ollivander just held out the wand silently, flat on his palms. It had not been hewn or carved in any way, but was the single unaltered thorn, pitch black and needle thin: the exterior surface not rounded, as per standard, but flattened like the blade of a sword. There was utterly no variation in colour, only the tip was bright red, as if dipped in fresh blood.  A delicate iron crosspiece had been attached, so that the wielder could hold the sharp-edged wand without risking his fingers slipping down the blade and cuts on his fingers... A hole had been drilled through a small knot above the crosspiece, and a fine black linked chain had been attached.

"What's the significance," the young man said finally. "What does it do?

"It depends on the wielder," Ollivander said. "And what the wielder considers important. It takes it into consideration."

"Uh?"

"It is a wand that signifies reinvention, when something so profound and painful has happened to you that everything you were, and ever imagined being, has been burned away, and you must perforce start over as a newborn. The bloodthorn represents the pain you have suffered, and the phoenix feather your near-simultaneous death and rebirth. It will do any kind of magic that you demand of it to start off with, but as you recover, or rather, re-evolve, it will learn to specialize according to your new passions and priorities. The flattened blade - let us call it what is is - represents the fact that your core will literally cut away at the wand's magical range, and will shape it as a weapon that channels your all-consuming passion. Eventually, it will be only good for one kind of magic. In short - it is not a wand for anyone with a wide variety of interests. You will eventually have to come back, once you have progressed past the point, to find a second wand - one that is a little more flexible and inherently understanding and patient of your single-mindedness, and that will oblige you in all of those other magical matters and endeavors that this one will eventually refuse to."

Bill looked at the wand, and at the wandmaker.

"Is it evil? I mean, is it Dark? Inclined toward Dark magic, I mean?"

"It is, or rather will be, what you are and will be, Mr. Weasley," the old man returned. "Completely and absolutely. If you are not inclined to Dark magic, it will reject it - and, as I said, no one will ever be able to wield it besides you, so you need not worry on another co-opting it in the hopes of replacing your focus with theirs."

"And what's the chain for?"

"To loop around your wrist so that you don't drop it." His lips quirked a little. "I imagine that if you plan to spend any amount of time working from a broomstick, it might come in handy?"

Bill reached out to touch it, and withdrew his finger.

"Can I get another now," he said. "To go with it?"

"No other wand would choose you now, Mr. Weasley. You are not an entirely blank slate... But you are still burning. Any yet unbonded wand you touch at this point  - any wand - would explode in your hand. Once you have cooled a little... Come back, and we will see what is what. I imagine I might find something for you in hornbeam. A wood inclined again toward the single-minded, but with an inherent understanding that no matter your passion, you must yet lead a life that demands you do something besides work. Hornbeam and unicorn hair, more than likely, for when it is time, you will need a bit of help healing. That time is not here yet, though, and in the meantime, the thorn will be all-purpose as you need it to be, until you are suited to bond with another."

Bill pressed his fingers to his eyes.

"How did you know," he said. "I mean..." His voice shook a little.

"Wands are not people," Ollivander said. "Well. Not the vast majority of them... But they are extremely emotive, nonetheless. They sense when a customer comes in, and, curious things that they are, will try to identify your magical 'scent'. As soon as you set foot in my shop with your brother this morning, Mr. Weasley... They all, every one of them, shrank down in their boxes and began a simultaneous novena that you would not go near them. That has happened only one other time in my lifetime, and the individual in question ended up crafting this one, and his own, as a result."

"Why wouldn't I be crafting _my_ own, then?"

In the back room, Malfoy watched silently. Ollivander hesitated.

"I cannot answer that," he said finally. "One day... Not that far in the future, I think - you may meet this wand's maker. Perhaps he will tell you his story, and you will begin to understand how it is that you complement each other in your pain. That story, however, not mine to tell, and I will not betray his confidence, not for the world, do you understand? Not because I fear him, or because he has forced me to remain silent on the subject... But because he has earned my absolute and utter respect. Remember that, if  he ever reveals himself to you, Mr. Weasley. The respect of a true wandmaker - one who must create matches for every soul who passes through his shop, however dark or light they might be, and must, by necessity then, remain absolutely neutral on the subject of the human condition - is not easily won." He nodded to the counter. "The holsters, as is the wand itself, are his gift to you."

"I can afford it. Them."

"That is not the point. His point is that if you have arrived at this point... You have already paid more than anyone can ever afford."

Bill rose to his feet and went to the counter to examine the holsters.

"Green and silver," he said. "Is he a Slytherin, then?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say. And again, that is not the point. The point is that _you_ are a Slytherin."

"Alright," he said. "I've been warned." He came and sat again, and held out his hands. Malfoy watched as the old man let the wand tilt down off his hands, dropping across the younger one's outstretched palms. Bill's fingers closed around it automatically. He swore a bit, jumping, as the sharp, razored edge of the thorn bit into his fingers. Blood welled, and immediately disappeared. The cuts healed over. He juggled the wand a bit gingerly, and, looping the chain over his wrist, took it by the crosspiece and adjusted his fingers a bit awkwardly. It took him a few moments for him to settle on a comfortable grip.

"Not exactly subtle, are you," he said to the wand, raising it before his face. "I can hear Mum now. 'Don't leave that thing lying around now, Bill; the children might hurt themselves on it. Honestly, what was Ollivander _thinking_!" He pointed the wand at the counter. " _Accio_ holsters!" The holsters shot across the room toward him before the second half of the second word was out of his mouth, skidding to a halt in front of him. He lowered the wand and blinked at them.

"Okay then," he said, and to the wand again - "Good job."

Ollivander's brow wrinkled. "You're not in pain?" he said cautiously. "The cuts on your hand aside?" Bill shrugged as he fastened the first holster to his boot, and pushed up the sleeve to adjust the second.

"Little twinge," he said. "Nothing serious." He got to his feet, sliding the wand under his sleeve. The crosspiece folded up neatly, parallel to the sides of the wand, and slid as if greased into the slightly wide-mouthed holster.

"Iron that bends?" he inquired.

"Magic," Ollivander said. Bill's lips quirked a little.

"Thanks. Tell  the bloke I appreciate it, whoever he is."

He made his way out. The door chimed behind him. Malfoy emerged, standing in the door of the back room. Ollivander looked from him to the sidewalk through the window, and back again.

"You were unconscious from the pain of bonding for an hour," he said. "And he called it a 'little twinge'? What kind of curses did - does - he have on him, that have allowed him to build up such a tolerance?"

"He has at least one serious potions addiction," Malfoy said. "It is obvious." He came to the chairs and bent, picking up several dull, brittle red strands that had fallen from Bill Weasley's hands after he ran his fingers through his hair. He shook his wand out of his sleeve - not the match for the one that had just left the shop, but a longer, plainer standard - and lit the end, holding it up and examining the length and roots carefully. "Mm. The color of the hair shaft is stable, but the follicles are mottled black and indigo. Mycanthus."

"My..." Ollivander nearly swallowed his tongue.

"I will find a way to tell Cartwright before the treatment tomorrow. It will likely change his approach, and he has, after that, perhaps till the beginning of the weekend to get him to St. Dymphna's before the hallucinations and seizures start."

"How could he afford mycanthus? His family is certainly well off now, but..."

"I imagine the goblins funded him," Malfoy said. "He brought them in quite ridiculous amounts of treasure, and if, as Master Cartwright said on Thursday last, the curses were aligned toward the inducement of divining magics, controlling his pain would have been in their best interests. Before that... I do not know. But I intend to find out - and, if he had a dealer before he began work with the goblins, just who that dealer was. There is a reason that trafficking of the particular substance will net the convicted twenty five years in Azkaban without parole."

He conjured a small Muggle ziplock bag, deposited the hairs within, and tucked them into his pocket.

"I will analyze them later tonight," he said. "In my home laboratory, so that I might see what else the healers might be working with. Thank you, Garrick."

"I won't say it was my pleasure," Ollivander responded. "But the young man considered, it was definitely a privilege." He watched as Malfoy made his way back to the back room. "Lucius?'

Malfoy looked back over his shoulder inquiringly. Ollivander's eyes glimmered a little at him in sly, if quiet amusement.

"My congratulations," he said. "I look forward to fitting your future children with their wands in a dozen years or so. I imagine they'll be worth the wait, in all ways, to all of us?"

Malfoy's wand slipped out of his sleeve, faster than lightning. The old man yelped, hopping and stamping as his shoes smoked... Malfoy smiled at him pleasantly. The smoke ceased abruptly.

"Don't push your luck, old man," he said. "I like you, but Niss can be a bit sensitive, and you know how I live to make her happy. Too, I daresay that a certain man who holds a Grandmastery in Warding and a potential Grandmastery in Combat  Dueling might feel a little... protective... of the couple who are offering to provide him with those children you just mentioned?"

"To be honest," Ollivander admitted after a moment, "it's the dragon wrangler that would worry me most. Don't let the cheery, radiant beam fool you; that is one formidable young man, and surviving and internalizing a double blast of mated Horntail fire is bound to have a bit of effect on his temper and power levels if he ever were properly riled."

"Feel free to intimidate the general public with the prospect," Malfoy said. "It can only work toward the good. My good specifically, and you may call me a self-interested man if you like, but I think we'd both agree it's far, far better than the alternative?"

"Mm," Ollivander agreed, and watched as he strode into the back room and popped out with barely a whisper of sound or displaced air.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 


	2. Monday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemons within! M/F.
> 
> Thank you all so very very much for your best wishes and prayers for my mom. She's doing better now; the surgery was a success, and though it'll be a long haul through rehab - she's on her way. I have no doubt you all helped. xoxox
> 
> Have a wonderful and happy and blessed New Year!
> 
> I totally made up the Patagonian glass spider, btw. :) Don't bother googling it...

**_Gringotts: London_ **

**_Diagon Alley_ **

**_Monday Night_ **

**_7.20 pm_ **

The high-walled, semi-private cubicles on either side of the main lobby of Gringotts: London were not actually designed to induce a sense of superiority in the Certain Quality of Client, but the coincidence made the results no less effective.  Lucius Malfoy shook the last remnants of the evening's rain off of his long black wool cloak, settled his exquisitely cut business robes, and seated himself in the provided chair. A sterling silver tea service appeared before him; the accompanying goblin poured him a dainty porcelain cupful before settling himself behind the desk to peruse the documents and permits set before him.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said as Malfoy  sipped his tea and examined the dubious selection of provided and accompanying biscuits. "We will assign a team to begin the magical expansions on your main family vault first thing tomorrow."

"Mm." Satisfied (if mildly disappointed; lunch was but a distant memory, and his accounts manager had forgotten - again - that strawberry creams were of the Muggle devil) Malfoy sipped the tea again before setting it aside and reaching into his robes.  "The week's receipts, for deposit."

The goblin took the envelope and slipped a thumb through the seal. The bundle of promissory notes within was impressively thick. Malfoy waited as he tallied them rapidly and efficiently before slipping the lot into a charmed drawer. Seconds later, the drawer slid open. The goblin extracted the twin copies of the receipt, checked them, initialed them, and passed them over. Malfoy examined them in turn, initialed both himself, and passed off the first as he tucked the second back into his robes.

"Second order of business," he said, and extracted his wallet, removing his auto-deduct card. "Reload with one hundred thousand galleons from Subsidiary Vault  Six, please, and..." He removed a second card. "Transfer twenty thousand to my son's trust fund, deducted from the today's deposits."

"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy.  May we place any orders for you this evening?"

Malfoy considered that, tapping his fingers lightly in the arm of his chair.

"No," he said. "I would, however, like you to send messages to Langley in Stratford, Shapiro in Los Angeles, Bhaer in Hamburg and Yurev in Minsk requesting that their International Level catalogues be sent to my home in Wiltshire."

Langley, Shapiro, Bhaer and Yurev were the four recognized leaders in Warding broom developments. The goblin was far too professional to allow his mouth to lemon at the implications there, but his aura was definitely radiating the equivalent.

"Of course, sir," he said. "Would you like me to schedule in personal consults?"

"No," Malfoy said, and that was all. The goblin inclined his head, rose to his feet, and slipped out, cards in hand. His client sipped his tea, grimacing. Even as he set it down, a small chime sounded on the desk... The goblin, perhaps six steps beyond the cubicle and still within Malfoy's range of sight, froze, the expression on his face one of unmitigated, constipated terror.

Curious, Malfoy tilted his chair slightly and craned his neck... All was immediately clear as he processed the identity of the individual now making his way across the lobby and toward the shortest line at the tills. The newly-minted and affianced Master-Adept Lawrence Domitian 'Ren' Cartwright, clad this evening in jeans, an unprepossessing jumper, a black leather bomber jacket and a brand new black and gold striped scarf, seemed not to notice the world skidded to a halt at his entrance. He just brushed a strand of light brown under his black and gold wool cap, smiled amiably at the woman before him in the queue, and stuffed his gloves in his coat pocket. He had just enough time to pull a paperback out of his second pocket and to flip to the marked page before the Head of Gringotts:  London himself appeared, hustling over with undignified haste.

"Master Cartwright," he said in a gravelly voice. Every syllable echoed off the marble walls. "This way, please."

"Uh? Oh. Really?" Cartwright's voice was mild, and just as carrying. "Are you sure? I don't mind waiting my proper turn, really, and I wouldn't want anyone here to be put off because I cut the line. Jumped the queue," he translated kindly. "It's rude no matter the country you come from."

" _This_ way," the Head said between gritted, grinding  teeth. Cartwright stuffed the book back in his pocket and ambled obligingly after him. Malfoy, watching him from the far side of the lobby, accepted his renewed auto-deduct cards, slipped out of the semi-private cubicle, and ducked, unnoticed by anyone at all, behind a gigantic pillar. Seconds later, he was swinging neatly out onto, and under, the collar of the first of the small horde of hustling security goblins bolting out after the pair... Seconds after _that_ , he was settling himself comfortably as his goblin took up position inside the Head's office. He watched as Cartwright crossed one leg over the other, and, tucking his cap away, shook his hair back. It fell neatly and impeccably into place, save for the cowlick of course... Lucius Malfoy, remembering suddenly the texture of that soft brown hair in his hands (and no matter his qualms on the potential situational specifics) had to resist the sudden urge to cast a line over that cowlick and reel its owner in. Given his current eight legs, it was not difficult to slap himself firmly in his efforts to refocus.

"Master Cartwright," the Head of Gringotts: London, Grabscale, was saying  again as another refreshment tray sparkled into being between them. "Thank you for coming."

He did not, the tiny arachnid observed critically from his perch, sound particularly thankful at all.  Given _his_ situational specifics: that is, that he was sitting in front of the man who held the power to utterly destroy the entire goblin nation with the confirmed word that he had proof that they'd attempted to kill him, Malfoy couldn't help but think he might have put a little more effort into sounding sincere.

"Tea?" Grabscale was offering reluctantly.

"Sure," Lawrence Cartwright said amiably.  "Why not. Cream, two sugars, no poison, please."

Grabscale gritted his teeth as he poured... Malfoy, once recovered from his bout of wild, appreciative sniggers, sat up a bit as the cup was passed over.

"Thanks. So. What brings me by?"

"We would..." The teeth ground. " _Appreciate.._. As concerns the wards on the Ministry vaults..."

The words stuck. Malfoy's tiny arachnid brow wrinkled.

"Ah," Cartwright  said delicately."Yes. I thought that might be it." He helped himself to a ginger biscuit from the tray and dunked it in his tea. "Go on.  You would appreciate... What, again?"

"Payday. Is. _Tomorrow,_ Master Cartwright."

"Master- _Adept_ Cartwright. And... Is it? Huh. That could prove a little problematic, couldn't it? You worked up a contingency plan yet?"

"Is it not enough to reassure you that the contract has been cancelled?"

"Nope." 'Brutally unsympathetic' swapped out with 'cheerfully, blatantly and insincerely regretful' so quickly it was dizzying. Malfoy, once he recovered, was more impressed - and amused - than ever - and that was before his sudden realization of what the Warder must have done... _Oh, Master Cartwright,_ he thought, with wild, barely suppressed horror and mirth both. _Securing the gates and forcing the bounders to buy back their own key? How very_ Augusta of _you._

"I mean, it's nice to know and all," Cartwright continued blithely. "But I'd still like to know who had it in for me. Specifically, I mean: no need to go through the whole list, and badly enough to pay the premium prices you must have demanded for me too? Would you consider it crass I expressed my curiosity on how much you'd charge for someone of my particular skill set?

"We cannot just..." Grabscale tried to control his temper. "No. And yes. Client _confidentiality_ , Master-Adept Cartwright. _Measures_ have been taken."

Cartwright heaved an earth-shakingly sad sigh. A sad, disappointed, and _wistful_ sigh... Helga Hufflepuff herself, Malfoy reflected, couldn't have managed a better. It would have had to be Helga; the rest of the Founders would have AKed themselves with their own wands before employing such blatant Emotional Droop toward _any_ end.

They likely had thoroughly enjoyed watching their colleague at work there though, in cases where the Droop hadn't been aimed their way, anyway.

"Yeah," the young American said mournfully. "I figured. Unbreakable Vows are a real bitch that way, aren't they."

Grabscale gritted a small, patently fake smile at him. "I appreciate your understanding. Now, if you wouldn't mind..."

And just like that, the Droop dropped.  Malfoy cringed - actually _cringed_ at the expression in those chilly, positively frostbitten eyes.

" _Quid pro quo._ What's the shit you've been feeding Bill Weasley?"

* * *

 

Lucius Malfoy watched as the sly, crafty expression of someone who thought they were once again in a position to negotiate spread over Grabscale's face.

"Mr. Weasley is no longer an employee of Gringotts, Master-Adept Cartwright, even peripherally. You destroyed the original contract yourself, and as that is the case, any obligation to pass on information to you, as subcontractor, has been legally and magically negated."

"I'm well aware. Which brings me to my second question; have you asked yourselves how I was able to do that, exactly? Destroy the contract, that is? It _is_ supposed to be a bit impossible."

"A man of your talents..."

"I didn't," Cartwright cut him off flatly. " _You_ did." He cut off Grabscale's affronted splutter with a curt, precise gesture and leaned forward.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Mr. Grabscale," he drawled. His American accent was thick as paste - deliberately, _insultingly_ thick. "I wasn't born yesterday, and I've never fallen off a broom in my life, much less a turnip truck.  I know _exactly_ who was behind Gringotts: London's attempt to assassinate me, and why, and just how screwed you are as a result of failing. I'm also fully aware of the fact that your client - if you can call your equivalent king  your client - is probably a lot more pissed at you for your mishandling of Mr. Weasley's contract than he is of your failing your charge. It doesn't matter, when it comes right down to it, after all, that he's a human, does it? It only matters that he was, when you agreed to allow him to come to Brazil with me, still under official contract with you. It would have been one thing if you'd set that second portkey for the same coordinates as Wednesday's, but you didn't. You set it to expel us at ground level. Fair game for me - but I don't imagine your Big Boss was too thrilled when he realized that you sent one of your contracted extended family - a member of the family that you were magically bound to treat as one of the tribe as long as he _was_ under contract - to his deliberate death on the premise that, since I'd removed the curses that so benefited you, he was no longer _useful_ to you."

"He was unable to fill the terms of his contract!"

"His ability to bring in the amounts of treasure he did wasn't written _into_ the contract, Mr. Grabscale. Your people simply became so accustomed to him exceeding the parameters of his pay grade as a junior curse-breaker that you assumed that the codicil 'to the fullest extent of his abilities' entailed him remaining permanently at that enhanced level. As for my removing the magics from him...  Did you actually _confirm_ the fact that I'd removed them, or did you just assume on my word, and his, and his ability to throw a Patronus, that it had been done? Seems to me that your Big Boss might have pointed out that you'd need a bit more proof than that before you could rationalize throwing him in the discard pile. Never mind that you made the deal for his contract with _me,_ not with Mr. Weasley himself- and that you at no point, and despite his request, agreed to pay him as an independent non-contracted hire outside the parameters of his original deal with  you. _That_ means when he went _with_ me, he was going in as a curse-breaker,  under the terms of your original agreement with him - the agreement that, while acknowledging the risks he took as one of your employees, _guaranteed_ him - magically guaranteed him - that you would not knowingly send him to a site where he could not reasonably expect to survive."

The security goblins exchanged looks.

"You broke the terms of your contract with Mr. Weasley," Cartwright said precisely. "I was only able to burn that contract because you had already rendered it invalid. Under those circumstances, Mr. Grabscale... Gringotts _owes_ him. _Officially._ We'll get to the terms of his recompense there in due course, but right now... Right at this moment... I would consider it a sign of good faith if you, unofficially, of course, were to tell me exactly what you have been feeding to my apprentice. Illegally feeding him: you saw me read that contract before I signed and burned them, and there was absolutely nothing in it about supplying him with medicinals toward the end of maintaining his ability to pad your vaults."

"You have only his word that we were providing him with anything!"

"Payday, Mr. Grabscale. _Tomorrow._ If I got in once, I can get in again - and then you won't just find yourself locked out of the Ministry vaults. You'll find yourself locked out of the bank as a whole, and tomorrow morning... Tomorrow morning, I'll start the tour of _every other branch of Gringotts on the planet_."

Goblins, Lucius Malfoy observed, did not sweat prettily.

"Mycanthus," Grabscale gritted. "Cut with an infusion of Mongolian yak root. Two vials a week."

Malfoy closed all eight of his eyes. Cartwright sat back, tapping his  fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Mongolian yak root, huh?"  he said eventually. "Wow. Never mind the mycanthus, that's like, a life sentence in Azkaban right there for all involved. Maybe even the Kiss, if it's determined you were working with people who didn't just harvest it the illegal, but the immoral way.  How far up the hierarchy did you have to go to find someone who could pull that one off?"

The Head of Gringotts: London said nothing. His trapped, helplessly enraged expression, on the other hand, said everything.  Cartwright shook his head.

"He must have been bringing in a full three-quarters of your yearly treasure haul if your boss was willing to take that kind of risk to keep him functional, but what's the first rule again, on that level? Don't get caught? You talk about being bent over the barrel with your pants around your ankles; he must be absolutely shitting at the thought that the Supreme Mugwump will trace that one back to him. Tell me, Mr. Grabscale, what was Gringotts: London authorized to offer me to shut me up, were it to become clear during this meeting that I'm fully aware of how deeply you've all _fucked_ up?"

It had been a long, long week, Lucius Malfoy reflected. A long, long, week that had acted as the culmination of a long, long decade, and in many ways, his entire life since the day he first entered Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... As an eleven-year-old fly destined, by a perverse combination of nature and nurture, to catch the attention of the darkest, deadliest spider ever to prowl the snarled, shimmering and blood-soaked Euro-Magical socio-political web at any point in _its_ history, he'd given no thought, by the time he was sixteen, to his future beyond how to escape.

The Patagonian glass spider had several curious characteristics. Tiny, it measured in at less than the eighth of the area of a grown man's smallest fingernail... Near-translucent, it blended in to the point of invisibility in any environment, save when under direct light or against a stark white background... It could jump immense, almost impossible distances... And the grown males of the species, unlike nearly every single one of its arachnid brothers of any variety beyond those in barest youth, were capable of spinning full webs of their own, rather than simple, uncomplicated strands of silk that limited their movements, and their efficacy, to those of pawns on a chessboard.

Lucius Malfoy, before he completed his Animagus training at the age of sixteen, had never seen, or heard of, a Patagonian glass spider. It had taken him months of furtive research to identify his own species. When he finally had done, the fly had retreated to his study, head spinning with the giddiness induced a world turned on end. When he had emerged again,  the world had righted (or wronged) itself sedately and as per the standard.. But with his eight newly shaped eyes and the promise of the associated perks, he saw more than differentiated angles and new possibilities.

He saw, for the first time, hope for more than mere escape.

He saw, as he was seeing now, embodied in the plain-faced, eminently ordinary and unprepossessing, absolute _impossibility_ sitting before him, in of all things, its _chosen_ colours of _black and gold..._

The possibility that things would... no, _could_ ... be _changed._

 

* * *

 

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, born July 5th, 1954, first rode the Hogwarts Express to its destination on September 1st, 1965. Promptly sorted into Slytherin House, it took less than three days  for Horace Slughorn, his Head of House, to take note of the tall, ridiculously gangly eleven-year-old on four fronts - his eerily fast reflexes, his fascination with Potions, his natural prowess in Transfiguration, and, above all, his absolute devotion to his closest friend and fellow first year, Narcissa Black.

That last hadn't taken three days, but perhaps three hours. Slughorn thought the devotion rather adorable for perhaps six minutes after the two had entered the Slytherin common room for the first time; the two little blonds had crossed the threshold together, not clutching hands, but with Narcissa's slim, pale hand linked quite properly through Lucius' arm. Neither looked remotely nervous or intimidated, only appropriately curious and jointly intrigued at what awaited them. Yes, it had been adorable, alright... One or two of the older girls had even squealed a little at the sight, in properly Slytherin style of course. Then...

Then everything went right and properly tits-up. Gentlemanly manners were one thing, but Slughorn had watched with amusement and alarm as eleven-year-old Malfoy had escorted the girl, not to _one_ of the best chairs, but to _the_ best chair in the common room and seen her appropriately settled before slipping down without the slightest iota of embarrassment to lounge at her feet. Young Narcissa hadn't blinked, just tugged affectionately at the ice-blond ponytail and settled back to await the prefects' welcome speeches.  Instead, she'd been greeted by her sister Bellatrix's icy, disdainful sneer, while Lucius suffered a good hard kick to the ribs for his lack of dignity.

Or at least he might have suffered it in a world where his reflexes, again, weren't quite so eerily fast. In less than the time it took his future sister-in-law to draw her foot back, the freshly-minted first year was on his own feet, his new wand (elm and dragon heartstring: eighteen inches)  in his hand, and Bellatrix Black's right shoe was burning brightly as the fire in the hearth. Again, no one had time to blink before the wand was back in young Malfoy's sleeve, and he was returned comfortably to his former position.

"I would not recommend you try that again," he said to Bellatrix. "Miss Black."

Miss Black, not unsurprisingly, tried it again. This time, Lucius followed up the Hotfoot hex with a tripping jinx, followed by a tickling jinx, followed by a rousing triple round of Bat Bogey hexes, all within the space of thirty seconds and from the comfort of the floor this time. None were particularly overpowered, but all were quite effective, particularly given the blurred speed at which the incantations were delivered.

"Im _pressive_!" Andromeda Black whistled admiringly as Lucius tucked his wand away, and hauled Bellatrix up, casting all the counter-spells briskly as she did so. "Oh, do stop screeching, Bella. He's practically family, you should be proud!"

"He is not _family_. How can you stand him?" Bellatrix demanded of her youngest sister, incensed. "He's got no pride at all; he just follows you around and pants like a bloody puppy!"

"Better a puppy than a bitch," Lucius said coolly. "Round three, Miss Black? I feel it only fair to warn you that next time, I aim for the robes, not the shoes."

Miss Black was nothing if not persistent. Sixty seconds later, Horace Slughorn was hauling apart the combatants, magically speaking, and though Lucius was missing his ponytail and sporting a faceful of bleeding boils and a pair of frenetically wagging crups' tails, Bellatrix' brand new school robes lay in ashes around her bare.... Everything. By breakfast the next day, Lucius' boils and tails were gone and he was sporting  a trim, neat cap instead of his beloved mane, but the foundations of his personal reputation was firmly secured in all four Houses... Bellatrix was not popular in any of them, even in her own. The covertly snapped photos of her rising, so to speak, out of the ashes of her own robes (and everything underneath), on the other hand...

The Black Pheonix, as some wit in Ravenclaw dubbed her, did not appreciate the particular brand of notoriety. She never managed to find the identity of the camera-wielder, but that didn't bother her; any self-respecting Slytherin could only have been expected to take advantage of such a brilliant opportunity, after all. The ensuing grudge she held against the individual who had provided the camera-wielder with their opportunity, on the other hand...

Six years later the Marauders would take Hogwarts by storm and their rivalry with one Severus Snape would become the stuff of school legend. The year following, Regulus Black would enter Slytherin House with a wand clutched firmly in each small hand and talent enough to set the world of dueling on its ear. From September 1965 to June 1970, though, Bellatrix Black and Lucius Malfoy reigned supreme on both fronts. Not even the professors were  inclined to intervene in their war, on the principle that as long as ThatCrazyBitch Black was aiming her wand at AllBallsNoBrains Malfoy, it wasn't pointed at anyone else. Lucius might have resented their policy, but he was too busy ducking, dodging, and writing letters to Bellatrix's aunt. Walburga Black, mother of Sirius and Regulus Black, was more than pleased to provide little Narcissa's friend with excruciatingly detailed written tutorials on all of the strange and bizarre spells and counter-spells that Bellatrix had in her arsenal; she'd taught most of them to the girl herself, after all, and was quite entertained by young Malfoy's resourcefulness, never mind his sheer bollocks. So very pleased was she with the reports back on the results of her efforts that she even sent him a few particular tutorials on spells-and-variants she hadn't taught Bellatrix...  Nothing life-threatening, of course, or even Dark for that matter - the Malfoys had never been inclined to make that kind of point publicly, and Walburga was, as always, respectful of the traditions of those families who proved themselves worthy of respect - but they'd always enjoyed those variants that induced abject humiliation. _That_ particular family quirk would come back to bite Lucius Malfoy and his bride rather hard in the future, but in the present, relatively innocent moment...

The results were predictable. By the end of Lucius' second year, there was not a student at Hogwarts willing to take on the tall, gangly twelve-year-old in any kind of magical duel not strictly supervised by a teacher. By third year, he was taking private lessons with the school's resident All-European Dueling Champion, Filius Flitwick, and by OWL year, Flitwick had sent messages to three of his former colleagues, all of whom had come to Scotland expressly to see the boy in action... The second, an International Dueling Master, offered him an apprenticeship on the spot. Even at his tender age though, Lucius could sense which way the political wind was blowing, and knew, when it came right down to it, what would be expected of him. The night he was offered the apprenticeship, right before Christmas of 1969, he slipped away from the hordes. Narcissa followed him, and found him, long lanky legs pulled up to his chest and face buried in his arms, in, of all places, the History of Magic classroom. She sat beside him on the floor, tugging her robes around her, and pulled him into her and against her, till he was lying on his side with his head in her lap.

"What do you want, Luke?" she said quietly, as she stroked his hair. "Truly?"

"You," he said desolately.

"Aside from."

"I don't know," he said. She knew he was upset. He only contracted when he was upset. "Not this. Not... What is. What will be. Every day the options seem fewer; our world grows a little smaller, and soon there'll be nothing for it but for us to shrink with it, to fit, will there? I don't want to have to shrink to fit someone else's vision, Niss. To make someone else bigger, and he _sounds_ reasonable enough, doesn't he? He even sounds _right_ , if you squint, but you squint with your eyes not with your ears, so it's all wrong from the start, isn't it? It's just... Not _right_. They say he's right, but how can he be right, if _it's_ not right?"

She traced his damp cheekbone.

"There's always ISEP," she said. "It's not too late to sign up."

"What?"

"ISEP. The International Student Exchange Program? Your father is going to have to say no to your becoming a professional duelist. To apprenticing. It's a great opportunity, but he has no choice either, does he?" She seemed to be considering her own words as she spoke. "It's a shame, really. He could have been proud of you for that."

"What's all that got to do with the Exchange?"

"He's going to have to say no to the apprenticeship, Luke. It'll hurt him more than it'll hurt you, but he doesn't have to know that, does he? And the exchange is only for a year, and sixth year at that. We'll be done our OWLs, and won't have started our NEWTs. And the world is shrinking, yes, but it's not..." She shifted a bit. "There's still a little time, you see? Year after next, the way things are progressing, politically speaking... There'll be no time left. So next year is our only chance."

He sat up at that.

"You want to run away together?"

"No," Narcissa said, not without regret. "But... We could _get_ away. On a holiday of sorts, from all of it, for a year, anyway. If we play our cards right. It would be even more likely if we applied to different schools. They all want grandchildren eventually, but at this point, they might just  think the separation would be good for us. Pre-graduation pregnancies are just so  _vulgar_."

Lucius rolled his eyes. She laughed softly, then sobered.

"It might be," she said. "At that.'

"How can you say that?"

"You know who you don't want to be," she said. "But do you know who you are now?" She'd pulled her own knees closer. "I don't. I think I'd like to find out, if I'm to be forced to risk losing it all for someone who'll never think I matter in any instance."

"There is that," Lucius admitted, and desolately again... "How can they all be so _stupid_?"

"It's not that they're stupid," his beloved said. "Well, yes. It is. But this is how it goes, isn't it? How it's always gone.You'd think they'd have gotten that much at least, from Binns and his never-ending obsession with the goblin wars."

They sat in silence.

"So where would you want to go?" he asked finally.

"Uganda."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's exactly what Mother will say. 'What? Why? Africa is just so _uncivilized_ , Narcissa, and the shopping is terrible besides!"

"Never mind all those lions wandering about," Lucius agreed. "She'll be terrified that you'll come home a Gryffindor."

They sniggered together.

"Brazil would be alright," he said judiciously. "I mean, yes, it's in the middle of the jungle, but that can only help my Herbology grade. And all the best Quidditch players in the world come from Brazil, and school's supposed to be covered in gold besides. Abraxas would definitely approve of _that_."

"Brilliant," she said. "Brazil for you, Uganda for me." She leaned in and kissed him softly, then swung about and settled astride his lap, tugging out the shirt-tail of her blouse, taking his hands and slipping them under the fabric.

"Niss," he said. "I don't..." He moaned as she rolled her hips a little. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because I really hate it when you tell me we have to stop. You know I will, that I always will, but... Sometimes it's easier if we just don't start at all."

Narcissa just bent her head and kissed him again, slowly. Despite himself, Lucius's hands tightened on her slender waist. She smiled against his lips as their mouths and tongues slid together, and his hands began to move, flattening and tracing the delicate lines of her back... His breathing grew harsh and ragged and loud in the silent classroom. The moonlight slipped through the windows and turned his pale platinum hair to a river of rippling silver.... The girl rolled her hips again, and slipped her robe off, and took his hands, and kissed the palms and his fingertips, and moved them to the buttons on her blouse.

"Narcissa..."

"Shh." She helped him, button by button, till it was open, and she shrugged it off. She wore nothing beneath, and took his hands again, and brought them to her slight, bare breasts. Lucius cupped them gently, stroking the tight, rosy nipples with his thumbs, capturing them between his long fingers and rolling them firmly. She gasped, and pushed into his hands.

"Ah, Luke..."

The room suddenly seemed very close. He caught her mouth again, then lifted her slightly, till she was kneeling lightly on his thighs, and his mouth, his fine gentle mouth, moved to  replace his hands on her breasts. He suckled and licked noisily, and breathed warmly and she bucked hard, and pulled his head closer. He slid his hands up her bare slender thighs and under the short skirt, fingers skimming the edges of her panties and tugging them down so they were around her thighs again...  She groaned deeply  as  a single gentle fingertip eased inside her, then stroked her carefully, gathering up silky, slick moisture and circling and pressing against the swollen little nub as he sucked even harder at her nipples. She pushed wantonly against his mouth and he rubbed her fully, flattening his hand and cupping and palming her smoothly as he did so. She gasped and reached down, seizing his fingers and holding them there as she rode them forcefully and hard to a strong, sharp climax. The sounds of his noisily working mouth, her wet, frankly squelching pussy, and their mutual gasps and groans were dizzying.

Finally, Narcissa slowed, easing off his hand and resting her forehead against his as she caught her breath, then kissed him hard... Slowly, Lucius brought his hands around to undo the button of her skirt, and the zip, all while waiting for her to stop him. She only bent her head and kissed him again.

The skirt fell. She stood, briefly, and kicked it aside, along with her little white panties. Her shoes and socks followed, and his light blue eyes widened and dilated, shifting to dark grey. She held out her hands and pulled him up, her small slim hands moving to his tie.

"Niss... The door..."

"I locked it." She tossed the tie aside and unbuttoned his collar. "Transfigure the desk, Lucius."

_"What?"_

"Transfigure the desk."

Unable to take his eyes off of her, his wand slipped into his hand. He pointed without looking, the incantation escaping from his dry, wondering mouth. The desk shifted. She took the wand from him and pointed it at him, and then he was standing, as naked as she. She locked gazes with him, and turned the wand on her flat, shallow pale belly, and traced a very specific pattern.

"Niss," Lucius said. "Are you sure?" He didn't wait for the answer, just stepped over, and picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed. She lay back as he lowered her, and reached up, and pulled him down and over her. He gasped, jolting as if burned, and moaned as she shifted till he was lying between her thighs, his flat boyish belly pressed against...

Narcissa reached up to touch his cheek.

"Luke," she said.  "Just for tonight... Just for tonight... I want you to take what you want."

_"What?"_

"I want you to take what you want."

"Niss, you are not a _what_. You are a _who_. You _matter_!"

"So do you," Narcissa Black said. "So do you, my love, and not just to me. You, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, matter. In and of yourself, completely. What you want matters. The world will try to reduce you, but I will not allow it. _You_ are not to allow it, do you understand?"

"It's really not that easy, you know?"

"It will _be_ ," she said firmly. "As easy as you _decide_ it will be."

His lips tilted at her.

"If you say so," he said, and paused. "You know, this really wasn't how I pictured this moment?"

"No?"

"No. Shouldn't I be all sweaty and anxious and hormonal and completely lacking in finesse, much less the ability to carry on a coherent conversation?"

"It's not too late. Though it wasn't really how I pictured it either. I'm lying starkers on a bed in the moonlight, telling you to take what you want, and you're musing on the hypotheticals."

"That's only because I'm afraid of buggering it all up," he confessed.  "And the more I talk, the longer I postpone disappointing you."

Narcissa sighed. He wilted.

"Too late?"

"No. Luke?"

"Mm."

"I'm starkers. On a bed. In the moonlight. You're starkers too. On the same bed, and... " She jolted and cried out as he pushed her pale thighs apart and moved over her, reaching between them and fumbling frantically and awkwardly. Niss jerked hard, crying out again at the sharp pain as he thrust and pushed hard in turn, gasping and gasping as he heaved and shoved and worked and ground his way up inside her. He was long: nine full inches, if not overly thick, and no matter that she was wet, sodden really, and relaxed from the double orgasm -

It _hurt_. She hadn't expected it; he'd been using his fingers on her, and in her, for several months now, but...

"Lu...Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...."

When he'd finished, he lay over her heavily and held her tight, heart still racing crazily as he pressed his face to her hair. She stroked his sweaty back gingerly, then pushed at him a bit.

"Sorry." He moved off her. "That was rather graceless of me, I know. I promise that I won't let it become a hab..." He caught her wince. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"A little," she said. "I don't mind, really."

"What? Only I thought, since I've used my fingers..."

"You're hung like a hippogryph, my love. It's bound to have an effect."

He looked mildly embarrassed. She laughed.

"I'll be fine," she reassured him, and snuggled up next  to him. He gathered her up and kissed her hair.

"I love you, Niss," he said. "So, so much. And not just because you finally let me shag you."

"I wanted it too, you know? I was just waiting for the right moment." She trailed her fingers over his forearm.

"And the moment when you found me blubbing in the dark in the History of Magic classroom was it?"

Narcissa Black propped herself on her elbow and kissed him.

"It's never been just about wanting," she said. "It's been about needing. You, needing me. I like you needing me. I like being able to help you. To take care of you. You're the kind of person who takes care of everything else. That's why this is all so... Pre-determined. He's going to see, he's seen already, because people will have told him.... that you're going to be the type of man who can take care of things. Make sure they happen the certain way; the way he wants them to happen. It's how you think. You see options that other people don't: possibilities, alternatives, outcomes..."

"It's not as uncommon as all that."

"No," Niss said. "But you are. You're beautiful, rich, charismatic, connected, magically gifted - not just talented, but gifted - and your family's got contacts everywhere. Throw in your skill with dueling, and let's face it, he'll want you to keep on with that for his own ends, whether you ever gain the title or not - the strategic mind is the extremely enticing icing on the perfectly raised cauldron cake."

Lucius was silent.

"I've heard he has his eye on Bella," he said.  

"Bella's not stupid. Crazy, but not stupid. Alright, maybe a bit stupid, but obsessive too, and if he has his eye on her, she'll have told him about you, Luke. All about you. and she might slag on you for your ongoing war,  but you've been holding your own against her since we were eleven, and mostly by out-thinking her, and he will remember that. And we're together, and I'm her sister, so it'd be all in the family."

"Bugger," he said unhappily.

"He's going to want you to take care of everything," she said again. "Until or unless you prove that you can't. And then he'll kill you."

The word rang. He said nothing again.

"That is not acceptable," Narcissa Black said quietly. "It is not acceptable, Lucius. I do not find it acceptable."

"Which part?"

"All of it," she said. "So you will find another way. I will take care of you, while you find another way. A way out. So you have nothing of yourself to distract you. While you are in my hands... Nothing will harm you. Nothing will hurt you. You will _live_."

"Uganda's a long way from Brazil."

"It's your holiday, Lucius. Nothing can harm you while you're on holiday."

"No?"

"No. The jungle is the jungle, but what there could possibly be more frightening than the prospect of having Bellatrix as a sister-in-law?"

"Having _him_ for a brother-in-law?"

"That will never happen, at least." she said. "She's just been betrothed to Rodolphus Lestrange. The announcement will come next week."

"Really? Rodolphus _Lestrange_? Isn't he..." He made an indicative gesture.

"Mm."

"Solace?"

She snorted. "Wouldn't that be a mockery? It's a definite possibility though. He _is_ an orphan, and..."

She didn't even have to finish the sentence. They sat up and looked at each other in absolute dismay.

"That," Narcissa said. "Would _definitely_ not be acceptable. Lestrange, Black, Malfoy... and _him_ ? Bound under _Solace?_ He'd have power, money, contacts and social _respectability_ , Lucius! And _you_ ! To take care of _everything_!"

"With you, and any children of ours, as collateral against my cooperation." He buried his face in his hands. "And Bella, legally married to Lestrange, but mother of his legitimate children. _Legitimate children. His_ children, with Black blood, heirs to Lestrange, and bloody buggering Uncle Head-of-House _Malfoy._ Salazar's scrotum. We are so, so _fucked."_

Narcissa pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. They sat like that for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, she Summoned her wand from her robes and cast a quick and thorough cleaning charm on both of them.

"We should get back," she said quietly. Lucius lifted his head. His face was pale, his smile wan.

"Must we?"

"Yes." She Summoned their clothes. "You're not contracting any longer. My job here is done."

He poked her. She poked him back. He thwacked her with a pillow. Feathers flew everywhere... The next day in class, he sat beside her, listening to Binns drone on and trying desperately to stay awake. She poked him again. He glanced over. She passed him a pamphlet under the desk. He took it, unfolding it and laying it openly out before him.

 

**Discover the World With ISEP!**

**Apply for the International Student Exchange Program Today!**

 

**PARTICIPATING INSTITUTIONS AND SPECIALTIES**

**_Uganda, Africa (Uagadou) - Astronomy, Self-Transfiguration, Wandless Magic_ **

**_Brazil (Castelobruxo School) - Herbology, Magizoology_ **

**_France (Beauxbatons Academy of Magic) - Charms_ **

**_Japan (Mahoutokoro School of Magic) -Potions_ **

**_Russia (Koldovstoretz School) - Elemental Magic, Alchemy_ **

**_Scandinavia (Durmstrang Institute)* - Classics and Antiquities, Spellcrafting_ **

**_Scotland (Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) - Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy_ **

**_United States of America (Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) - Healing, Spellcrafting_ **

 

* _Only Students with Established Magical Genealogy May Apply_

 

"Wandless magic?" he mouthed at her. She smiled sweetly at him, doodling on her parchment with her quill as she propped her chin on the other hand... Lucius turned the page of the pamphlet - and nearly fell off his chair as the sensations of a small, warm slick hand manifested in an extremely personal, and by some definition untoward, location. He shifted and bit his cheek, hard, thanking his lucky stars that he'd chosen the window seat this time, and that Niss was sitting between him and everyone else's view. Niss watched him, for all intents and purposes staring dreamily out the window behind him as his pale elegant features flushed, the deep strawberry stain flooding down under his starched white collar. His hands clenched and he adjusted his robes minutely...  The quill scratched. His glazed eyes flicked down.

_Hands up where I can see them._

Lucius bit his cheek again, till he tasted blood, and placed his long, trembling hands on the desk, one clutching at his own quill, and the other smoothing the edge of the pamphlet compulsively. The small, invisible hand slid back and forth, back and forth inside his trousers. Magic, he thought in agonized pleasure (and not for the first time; Narcissa had learned the particular spell as his fifteenth birthday gift last summer, during his birthday dinner with all of her relatives _and_ his),  was a wonderful and terrible thing...He glued his eyes to the page before him, and concentrated with all his might on remaining still and soundless. After a long, long, agonizing interim, the quill scratched again.

_Now._

Lucius's lips parted slightly, his eyes closed... Across the room, everyone jumped and screamed simultaneously, startled out of their naps as the hinge on the blackboard snapped and the board crashed to the stone floor. By the time everyone had recovered, he was sitting back in his seat, his flush fading, and turning pages steadily again. Narcissa Black crunched the end of her peppermint quill loudly, the wafting scent masking the slight minted after-odor of the cleaning charm currently at work on her seat-mate's trousers. Lucius picked up his repaired quill and printed two neat, tiny letters.

**_TY_ **

Narcissa said nothing, just sat back and leaned against his shoulder. He smiled down at her, and caught sight of her wrist, raising his eyes appreciatively at sight of the delicate silver bangle, shaped like a snake and glimmering just above the sleeve of her robe.

**_Lovely bracelet. Is it from one of your secret admirers?_ **

_No. Andie gave it to me. Isn't she sweet?_

**_She is. I quite like her. Where did she get it, do you know?_ **

_She made it. Or rather, her boyfriend ordered it for her from a jewelry shop in Kent, and she charmed it._

**_Which jewelry shop? Wait, Andromeda has a boyfriend? Since when?_ **

_I have no idea. Pay attention to the lecture, Lucius. Those who do not pass History are doomed to repeat it, and Abraxus will likely refuse you permission to go to Castelobruxo if you get less than an E on the OWL. It would be an O, and will be in all of your other subjects, but... Binns._

Nine months, twelve OWLS, eleven Os and an E+ later, just-turned-sixteen year old Lucius Malfoy sat on his bed in the double dorm-room at Castelobruxo School, holding a small framed portrait in his hands. The exquisite golden haired girl smiled up at him softly, and blew him a kiss. He turned his hand, miming as if catching it, and pressed it to his heart before placing the frame carefully on the nightstand. It was made, as was the frame of the bed itself, of some fragrant silvery wood, subtly grained and carved. The walls were painted a pale, sunny yellow and the curtains, sheets and blankets were all pale ivory. All very pristine, and spelled, he presumed, to repel stains. 

Across the room was another bed.  Lucius glanced at the open door and made his way over, hands to himself, of course, but curious, nevertheless, at the sight of the odd items on the nightstand... There was a string of softly glowing white beads there, hung over the bed post - fifty nine in total: fifty set at regular intervals of ten, and separated by four individual pale blue ones. The last five branched off above a silver medallion, and ended in a small silver cross. On the table itself was a slim wand: eleven inches, Lucius estimated, and three scattered paperback books. One was in Spanish; the second and third were English. The one closest to him was white, with a silhouette of a child on the cover, and what looked like a pack of wolves around him. The title was printed in plain yellow: THE JUNGLE BOOK. Lucius' eyes moved to the next object - a tiny plaster statue of a woman in robes, holding a baby. There was a colourful card beside it. It attracted Lucius' attention immediately because the picture wasn't moving. Glancing over his shoulder again, and in spite of his own good manners, he picked it up. The image was of a winged man in armour, bearing a great sword. He turned the card over. There were words there too, in small letters: two sets of them, the first in Spanish, then English.

**St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle;**

**Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.**

**May God rebuke him, we humbly pray: and do thou, Oh Prince of the Heavenly Hosts,**

**By the power of God, cast into Hell Satan and all the other evil spirits**

**Who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.**

Lucius Malfoy dropped the card as if it had burned his fingers and backed hastily away, for whatever reasons near excruciatingly uneasy and discomfited. He returned to his bed, sitting down on the edge again, looking around again as he collected himself. It was a very comfortable room, if a bit spartan: perfectly and thankfully normal, and not dissimilar to the dorms at Hogwarts if one took into account that it, like the rest of the sixth and seventh year student accommodations at Castelobruxo, was only sized for two. The other noted oddity (aside from the bland colour scheme) were the windows; at first glance they looked perfectly ordinary, but when he'd gone over to open them, realized that there was no way to manage it. The magically impermeable glass was smoothed seamlessly into the white stone walls, set into perfect arched alcoves. The detailing, unlike that at Hogwarts, was  immaculate shape: there were no cracks in the walls or stonework, no drafts, no crumbled corners or imperfections anywhere. Even the toilets were not immune from the perfection; upon using the facilities he'd gone to flush, and looked about, puzzled, for a lever or handle. Instead, he heard the distinct rush of a Vanishing spell, and when, startled, he'd looked down, the bowl had been sparkling and bland. Blinking, it had taken him a moment more, and a quick examination of the contents of the stalls, and yes, the showers and baths too, till he'd realized what he was, or rather wasn't, seeing.

 _There are no_ drains _. No drains, and no..._

"Shadows!" he said aloud from the bed again. He stood, turning, examining the floor and walls minutely, more astonished with each passing moment. Nothing, _nothing_ cast a shadow. He bent and lifted the edge of the blanket on the bed. Pale magical light eased out. He opened the closet. There were not only no shadows, but not a dark, or even dim corner in the entire room.

" _That's_ bloody weird," he said aloud. He went to the door, and looked out. No shadows, more light... Bewildered, overwhelmed, and not a little nauseated yet from the long series of international, never mind intercontinental portkeys, he nearly fell over when a soft chime sounded behind him. He turned. There on his night table was a thick green folder. He approached it cautiously. Printed on the front in elegant gold calligraphy was his name, current dormitory, and room number. Below were the words

**CASTELOBRUXO SCHOOL**

**ISEP STUDENTS' ORIENTATION PACKET**

Lucius seated himself yet again and flipped open the packet.

 

**LUCIUS A. MALFOY, YEAR 6**

**HOME COUNTRY: ENGLAND**

**HOME SCHOOL: HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

**PARTICULAR ACADEMIC PROFICIENCIES: POTIONS, TRANSFIGURATION**

**REMEDIAL REQUIREMENTS: NONE**

**ADVISING PROFESSOR:  INEZ HERNANDEZ (Transfiguration)**

**ROOMMATE: RAMONE CARRIERA**

His class schedule was next, and a map of the castle. He examined it with some interest - he'd manage a bit more, he knew, when the urge to sick up faded a bit - and flipped again. His mouth dropped as he read the next page.

**Dear Mr. Malfoy,**

**We have received the results of your magical physical, forwarded us from Hogwarts, and as it has been determined that you are not one of the one-half percent of the Wizarding population with the allergy to the Mandrake plant, you are expected to join us in Transfiguration Lab 4 tomorrow night at 7 in order to begin your Animagus training. Your grades in the subject, as well as your professor's observations on your temperament, indicate that you are a prime candidate for our accelerated program. As such, you will be scheduled in for private tutorials four times a week on top of the mandated class sessions. They will, should you apply yourself there, facilitate your progress considerably.**

**Castelobruxo School offers these classes, and the private sessions, for vital reasons, and as such you are not required to obtain parental or governmental permission. There are no extra costs involved. If you have questions, please seek answers from your room-mate before the meeting tomorrow. We prefer not to waste valuable class time on questions that can be answered in advance.**

**Sincerely,**

**Prof. Inez Hernandez**

Lucius read the letter again, bewildered.

_Animagus training? Vital reasons? No parental or government..._

The door swung open.

"Hola!" a raucous, cheerful voice greeted him. "Malfoy from England?"

"Erhm," Lucius said, standing automatically. "Yes. That's me. I mean, that is me. You  can just call me Lucius though. No country necessary; I am fairly sure that the accent will give me away."

The boy laughed. He was Lucius' own height: six foot two, thin, dark brown, loose-limbed with a flashing white smile and dark, dancing eyes.

"Carriera," he introduced himself. "Ramone Carriera, from Rio de Janiero, and that is all there is to be said about _that._ Welcome to Castelobruxo! Have you been sitting here since you arrived?"

"Thank you," Lucius said, and to his own embarrassment and self-disgust, rather piteously...  "Yes. They brought me here and left me."

"Well, you _are_ from England. You are all so proper, they probably thought you would like to be sick in private before they introduced you about." He bounced cross-legged on his own bed, his eyes bright and curious in his bony, agile face. "The international portkeys, they are terrible, I hear. I have never taken one myself; are they as bad as they say?"

"Yes," Lucius said, with brutal honesty. Caught off-guard by... Everything... He could manage nothing else. "All six of them."

" _Six?_ "

"London to Paris, Paris to Madrid, and Madrid to Sierra Leone. Those weren't so bad, or wouldn't have been if I'd had more than half an hour between, and I stopped in Sierra Leone overnight, but the trans-Atlantic jump to Guyana this morning nearly did me in. Then there was the final jump to Manaus - that wasn't horrid, for some reason, even with the distance, and there was the nearly six hour wait between, besides - and then the last jump here."

" _Nossa Senhora_! And you are sure all your parts are still with you?"

"First thing I checked," Lucius admitted, and couldn't help but laugh along with the boy.

"Good. This is good." Carriera settled more comfortably. "Well, then. I am here now, and I will help you, heh? You have your orientation packet, have you any questions?"

"Lots. First though... My schedule is here, as was arranged, but I am told in this letter here that I have an extra class.  Animagus training. I don't mind at all, but it says that it is mandatory, and for vital reasons. I was told nothing of this before I left, or did I miss something in all of the papers I was sent?"

Carriera's smile faded a little.

"Ah," he said. "That. Yes. The teachers are likely intending to tell you at the dormitory meeting later... But maybe it is best this way after all. Some things, they are easier to think on with a little advance warning, heh?"

"How do you mean?"

The boy collected himself.

"You have noticed," he said. "I am sure, even in these few hours... That certain things in the castle here... They are a little different from your home?"

Lucius frowned at him.

"If you're talking the drains, yes," he said after a moment. "And the windows. They don't open."

"No. They do not. The drains, they would lead outside, yes, and that is not safe, so ... And you have seen, I am sure, that there are no shadows here? And light, in the closets and..."

"Under the beds?"

"You looked. You are good." He did not sound happy. "Observant. This is good. Important."

"Thank you, but what do all these things have to do with Animagus training?"

"A very great deal, Malfoy-from-England. In truth... Everything. You are sure that the teachers have told you nothing yet?"

"No. I told you, they brought me up here and left me. Told me to rest, and that they'd be along soon after they saw to the second lot of incoming back in Manaus, but I haven't seen anyone since but you."

"Mm. And that is all there is to be said about _that_. So. There is nothing for it, then. We start from the beginning. Tell me, Malfoy-from-England, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What have you learned in your lessons of lethifolds?"

* * *

 

The word dropped from the young Brazilian's lips with the heavy, dead weight of a blank-eyed corpse. It sprawled limply between them on the pale ivory floor, casting, like all else around them, no shadow. All the light seemed gone suddenly too as it lay there, and all warmth in the room, and Lucius Malfoy recoiled from the word as he had from the prayer on the card... Ramone Carriera watched as the pale, elegant young man, without the slightest apparent conscious awareness of what his body was doing, pulled his long legs up and slid back toward the very center of his bed, away from the lit gap between the floor and the mattress above.

"Lethifolds," Lucius repeated slowly. His eyes defocused slightly, and he recited swiftly and mechanically, as if reading a passage directly from a book. "Lethifolds are Class XXXXX magical beasts: intractable and untameable, and considered, because they prey on, and feed on, humans, Dark.  Their appearance resembles that of black cloaks roughly half an inch thick, though they are considerably thicker while in the process of digesting a meal. They glide along the ground and other surfaces in search of their victims, attacking at night under cover of shadow, silence and darkness. They attack while their the target is asleep, seeking to enfold them, smother them, and absorb the still-living crushed and flattened bodies into their own.  Lethifolds cannot and do not die except as the victims of accidents: there is no known spell, including the Killing Curse that mortally injures  them. The only form of magical protection against Lethifolds is the Patronus spell; like their distant relatives, Dementors, they are repelled by the unmitigated positive energy embodied in the particularly channeled magic. The Lethifold is, fortunately, an extremely rare species, and can be found only in the..."

He stopped abruptly.

"Tropics," Ramone Carriera finished. "Welcome to Brazil, Malfoy-from-England. A very concise summary, heh, though not quite accurate on all points. Firstly, leths are not truly black. They adapt to the colours and varying tones of the shadows in which they lurk, rendering them, effectively invisible. If there are no shadows, yes, the eye translates them _as_ black, but that is only because they have no true color of their own, and their biology cannot translate white."

He watched as that processed. As the young man before him put the pieces together.

"No drains," Malfoy said, almost to himself. "No windows that open." He looked up and around. "No cracks, and nothing in any kind of degraded condition.... No corner unlit, and no shadows allowed..."

"In a shadowless land," Carriera said rhetorically. "You ask yourself this. What is a shadow when you see one but no shadow at all?"

"So, what, you're saying that all those things are set up to repel... But..." The young Englishman looked genuinely bewildered and puzzled. "But all the books and experts say they're rare! Really, really rare! There are perhaps a half-dozen recorded sightings per decade, world-wide, so how much of an issue can they be, even here?"

"Some things are rarely seen," Ramone Carriera said. "But that does not mean that they are not there. Here. What is the first thing you were told about Castelobruxo, Malfoy-from-England?"

"Um.... Aside from the location? That it's built around the remains of an ancient temple, and glows as if coated in molten, lit gold."

"Very poetic. Yes, this is true, and looks very good in the adverts besides.  In truth, the glow was induced as part of the school's original defense system, and has been, since the school was first constructed, or rather adapted, from the ruins of the temple it was when it was built, over a millennia ago. Leths hate the light. If one can cast a Patronus, that is well and good, but if not...  Light... Light is yet life. Darkness is death. No pretty death, either. Here in Brazil, in the dark, you die with your eyes open: silent always as you are smothered and swallowed alive, crushed bone by bone - larynx first, always, so no one hears your goodbyes - and pulped down and rendered, not just as food, but toward the end of stimulating their magic development of your murderer's reproductive system.  Lethifolds embody the essence of the Dark, you see? Blood, death and stolen life is a requirement to sustain their effective immortality, both personally and in their production of the next generation."

Lucius could do nothing but stare at him.  Carriera waited.

"A _millennia_ ago? You're... _You are_ saying," his new roommate said carefully. His British accent was clipped, formal, precise. "What you are saying...Is that lethifolds are a real, longstanding _problem_ here in South America? One that is severe enough, and has _been_ severe enough, that even a thousand years ago, the defenses against them were the _first thing_ to be taken into consideration when constructing the school itself?"

"They are the first thing that are taken into consideration everywhere, all across this continent. And as they do not die naturally and cannot be killed, though they continue to give birth, the problem has gotten progressively worse over time."

"But, if.. As..." Lucius corrected himself.  "As that's... that _is_... true... Why has no one ... Why have we not... Why am I only hearing of this now?"

"A problem is only a problem for those for whom it _is_ a problem, heh? If those to whom it is no problem cannot see it... If they cannot see the results of the problem, much less the cause... How are they inclined to believe that the problem truly exists?"

"What, all the dead people lying about don't _count_?"

"You would think, heh? But they are not lying about. Those who are lost, simply... disappear. If a person falls to the lethifolds, Malfoy-from-England, and there is no one there to see it happen... And no body to recover, and no murderer to be found... Never mind the probability of another death, _your_ death, were you to pursue the point at the source, where all proper investigations should start, knowing that there is no way to bring justice to the murderers even if all investigations, to that point, were to go as they should..."

He trailed off. Lucius Malfoy ran a hand over his blond ponytail.

"Someone has to know," he said. "Someone has to be told. If it really is that big of an issue... People should know."

"And if I were to tell you that people do know? That the people who you believe should know, again... Do?  What do you think they would do with this knowledge? This knowledge that the infestation has become so terrible that there is now not one family, not one person, in all of South and Central America and all of the tropical islands surrounding, that has not lost someone they loved to this unstoppable plague: this curse that leaves no bodies, no smoking wands, and in the case of the Nomaji - the Non-Magicals.. Not even the memories of the very existence of the people that they have lost?"

It took a moment for that last to sink in.

"WHAT?"

"Well, there is no way to explain it, heh?" Carriera said reasonably. "How do you explain such disappearances, in such numbers, to people who are not allowed to know of magic? How many hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousand - maybe even millions... of Nomaji can disappear over the generations before the only solution is to make sure that when they do disappear, because they _will_ disappear, and there is no way to stop it from happening, ever... they disappear in a manner that will cause the least panic, and yes, the least pain?"

"You... they..." Lucius held his head, utterly overwhelmed at the implications. "You _erase_ people? You... erase... _People_ ? Not ... Not just the memories of their deaths, or of how they died... But the memories of the people _altogether_? _Altogether_? _All_ of them? All of the memories _of_ them, from everywhere, from everyone, as if they never existed at _all_?"

"Only the Nomaji. We Magicals remain untouched, as we must remain aware to survive."

"And you think that makes it _acceptable_?" He actually spluttered. Carriera grimaced.

"We are not talking of what I think, or of what the people who live here think, are we? We are talking of those others who do not live here, and would never have known the lost ones in any case. You know those others, so tell me the truth of them now, Malfoy-from-England, as you do know them. Who in your part of the world, of the people who make the decisions on what is made public and what is not, would think the erasure of the memory - not the _memories_ of, but the memory _of_ \- those certain, _already lost_ Nomaji an acceptable sacrifice  when the alternative would guarantee _-_ not just risk, but _guarantee -_ the exposure of the Magical world? Do you not think that those others might think  an acceptable solution to an impossible situation that stems from an issue that, truly, they reason...  is not _their_ problem in the first place?"

A very unpleasant silence blossomed.

"Some might... But a lot of them wouldn't," Lucius said finally."More of them than you think. A lot more than you think."

"Yes? Even to the point of, as I said, breaking the Statute of Secrecy? These people, these Nomaji... It would not bring them back, after all. They would still be dead. So what does it matter if they are made a little more dead? Some... Some might even consider it more of a kindness, to erase the memory of them from those who would otherwise grieve so."

Lucius struggled.

"I am not saying I find it acceptable," Carriera said, relenting a little in the face of his obvious overwhelming distress. "Or that we here find it acceptable. There is simply nothing else that we can do. What we are _allowed_ to do, for the problem is ours, but the problems arising should knowledge of the true extent of the problem be known and the Nomaji allowed to understand what is happening, and what will continue to happen...  Would be everyone's. The entire world's, heh, Magical and Non-Magical, and how many more would die then, if we were to tell all that we exist, and that the first thing we are offering them as a greeting is the awareness of a terrible, terrible nightmare to which there can be no solution, and from which no one can ever hope to awaken?"

Lucius opened his mouth, and shut it again. Carriera nodded.

"Problems upon problems upon problems. So we say nothing, and do as we must, and those away from us who do know - who may or may not think it an acceptable solution to an impossible situation say nothing to anyone either, anywhere, to lessen the risks.  And if it makes it easier for them to rationalize their dilemma on the principle that the problem is not _their_ problem when it comes right down to it since it does not affect them, and the responsibility to help solve it not their responsibility at all, particularly since nothing can be _solved_... Would you yet insist on informing those who will never be affected if the only thing you could say if they asked how they could help, is that they cannot?"

"So why participate in the Exchange at all?

Carriera offered him a small, whimsical smile at that. "As for that... How are we to excuse ourselves when there is officially nothing to excuse ourselves from? And we are, even here, as is everyone everywhere,  more than the sum of our problems. We have much more to offer you than fear, and if you are careful while you are here - and Castelobruxo is, of all places in South America, the safest, because we do, first and foremost and always, mind the dangers here - the horrors will not touch you at all, and you may go home with your memories of the rest."

"And what about you? What will you do, after you graduate and leave this place?"

"I will do what needs to be done," he said simply. "As all we Magicals do, who are born to this hell. I will stay on. It is our charge from God, many of us think. Every Nomaj who is forgotten... A witch or wizard must make it happen. First, of course, we strive to protect all, and each other, as ever we can toward the prevention of that day... To protect everyone equally as we are able, because lethifolds do not care if you are Magical or Non-Magical, heh? They only care that you are human. In what passes for their eyes, we are all one, so when we humans must deal with _them_... That is the way that we see ourselves as well. As one. All of us. And so when we do what we must do, on those days when we cannot hold the night back...  We remember our charge, yes, from the great God, not just to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves - for those with whom we are one - but to remember and keep the memory of, and for, those lost, and who must forget."

Lucius said nothing. Carriera sighed.

"We become Animagi here," he said, "because leths do not eat animals, save as a last resort. If you can Change, you can sleep safely. You can travel safely, though it is not the only way. You have heard, heh, that Brazil, she makes the best Quidditch players in the world?"

"Yes."

"You play for your team at school?"

"Yes. Mostly Keeper, though I'm a fair Beater too."

"Good. No, very good. By the time you go home, you will be good enough to play for your country, in every position."

"You have not seen me fly," his guest pointed out. "You cannot know if I have that kind of potential."

"It is not a matter of potential. It is a matter of practice. Constant practice. No one walks in the rainforest; lethifolds do not just lurk in the shadows on the ground; they climb trees and walls to a point, so it is above that point that we fly everywhere." The young Brazilian examined him critically. "You are so golden, you are like the Snitch, and the leths, they would love to catch you and crush your wings" - he made a stomach churning little gesture.  "And you are tall, too, so I will teach you myself to ride standing. One half inch of too-long leg, it can make the difference when you fly low. The jungle, she is not so accommodating in clearing a path on the safe levels, and the wolves may have their laws, but we are not the wolves here, like in Kipling, heh? Here, we are always, always the ones who are hunted."

Malfoy understood _that_ well enough, never mind the realities of Europe's version of the encroaching, unaccommodating jungle... He ran a hand over his ponytail, and pulled out the binder. His hair fell, shimmering as ice around his shoulders. Ramone reached out and touched a pale, cool strand.

"Lucius," he said in his accented voice. "'Light bringer'. It is a good name, even if the original did cause all of our troubles in the first place."

"Sorry?"

"Lucius, or Lucifer, the archangel. God so loved him, above all, and held him highest, so when he fell, he fell furthest. All the way to the floor of the jungle, we say, here in Brazil, and the shadow of his broken body - because as an angel he could not die - became the first lethifold. Now he eats us, this shadow, because he is angry and cannot bear that God gave us names just as if we are important to Him, so he swallows our names and our memories.  Without them, we are so lost that God cannot find us, Lucifer thinks, though we who are not yet gone believe... We _must_ believe... That He, at least, never forgets. There is no shadow that can steal His Name, after all, nor swallow _His_ Light."

Ramone Carriera released the strand of hair and smiled, and it was a real smile, if a bit damp about the eyes, and the defiant angle of his tilted head revealed a small gold cross at his throat that glimmered with magical light. Lucius Malfoy had only a vague idea of what he was referencing - he had not been raised on God any more than he'd been raised on Kipling, and those who practiced  active religion of any variety  at Hogwarts were typically Muggleborns or halfbloods who rarely, if ever, found themselves in the Snake Pit - but he could do nothing but nod in silent, bewildered agreement. His room-mate smiled at him again, and uttered a few phrases at him in flowing, melodious Spanish.

"I am sorry, I do not..."

"It is our goodbye here," Ramone explained. "On leaving each other, and on meeting too, for we never know what will happen next, whether we travel together or apart.  "There are none before you, and none after you, that can replace you," he quoted in English. "If you are lost, I will not forget you. I will remember you always."

Lucius looked down at the packet.

"Have you managed it?" he asked. "The Animagus transformation, I mean?"

Ramone grinned. "Hold out your hand," he directed. Lucius obeyed. Ramone covered his palm with his own and concentrated -  and suddenly the young Englishman was holding a tiny sapphire-blue frog: slender-limbed and bright-eyed with long agile toes and a brilliant splash of gold at its swelling throat.

"What the..."

The frog blurred, and Ramone was human again.

"It is a good form," he said proudly. "No, the best. Leths hate reptiles. No warm blood, and most of the the ones in the rainforest, they are a just a little bit poisonous, heh? Some, like me, more than a little bit, and so very bad for the digestion! And I climb well and quickly, and I glow too, in the night!"

"That," Lucius said wholeheartedly, "is _brilliant._ Will the teachers report my form if I manage it before I go home?"

"Only if you are seventeen before you leave. If you are still sixteen, you are expected to register yourself, on your birthday. Also, Malfoy... There is a trick here, in this letter. You are not required to ask for  permission to learn the Change, but if you write and tell your parents, they will have to write and give it. _Would_ they give it?"

Lucius thought on that.

"I'm not sure" he said at last. "I think so... But it might not matter, in the end.  They would want to know why it is considered necessary, and as I am their only child.... They would tell me to come home."

Ramone sobered at that, and nodded. "You must be careful then," he said. "Very careful, if you wish to stay. There truly _are_ none before you, and none after you who can replace you, and none to remember you either, from your family, if you are lost before you have children yourself. And if you do stay... You will learn our names. We are hard to forget, heh, once you know us? If you stay, Malfoy, till the end... You will go home, and we must stay, but we go with you too. If you remember us... We can never be lost."

"You make it sound like it's inevitable. Like you expect it."

"No one is safe," Ramone said soberly. "No one. You... You who come, and go... You are our 'just-in-case'."

Lucius Malfoy, long and gawky and raw-boned, but elegant in spite of it all, his shimmering icy hair around his shoulders, looked at the boy before him, and thought about what was waiting for him back in England, and inevitability, and expectations, and the darkness behind it all.

"No one is safe," he found himself saying. "No one. No matter where they are."

"This is true too," Ramone agreed, and shook himself. "Here, show me your wand."

Lucius let it slip out of his sleeve. "Elm and dragon heartstring," he said, holding it out.  "Eighteen inches."

Ramone took it and  turned it in his fingers, then took up his own wand and flicked it.

"LUMOS!"

The room was filled with blinding light. Slowly it faded... He handed the other boy his wand back.

"Show me," he commanded. Lucius took it. The room glowed softly. Ramone snorted with laughter.

"What is _that_? My brother can do better, and he has no magic at all!"

"Your brother is a Squib?"

"No. He is a Nomaj. My mother and father too. I am the only Magical in my family."

"You're a _Muggleborn_?" It slipped out disdainfully, automatically, on instinct, and he flinched back self-consciously, embarrassed at the proof, despite his genuine horror at the finer details of their conversation, of his own established prejudice.... Ramone didn't seem offended.

"They are very different," he said peaceably. "Your side of the world and mine. In yours, many of you are raised to see us as abominations, but here, in mine, we are seen as gifts. Gifts of God, who sends random angels to some families to protect them, so that even if the family is lost while we are away learning what we must to protect them, there is one who will always remember them. Who will not be made to forget them, while we adopt others to care for in their place."

Slowly, Lucius relaxed.

"My apologies," he said. "I... Had not thought on it like that."

"Of course you have not." Ramone patted his shoulder consolingly. "But did you come across the world to see the same way? To think the same thoughts? To go back, in the end, the same as you were when you left? If that is what you expect, and what you want, you should go home now." He eyed the other boy's wand again. "It is very long. Do all Englishmen have such long wands?"

"No. The craftsman who sold it to me said that it's the longest he's ever made."

"It is not everything," Ramone conceded. "And it dribbles so very little power at your hands! Your girlfriend must not be very impressed." He grinned as he nodded to the photo of the exquisite girl on Lucius's night table. "Or perhaps you just need a proper man to show you how to use it, heh, before you go back to her?"

Lucius did raise an eyebrow at that, automatically and autocratically reproving, though his face yet displayed a bit of his sixteen-year-old naive shock and uncertainty at the rather blatant innuendo. Ramone just smirked at him.

"I will remember your name if you will remember mine, heh?" he said, and it was suddenly sober again, and the young Englishman looked down at his extended hand, and up at him.

"Is that another way of saying hello?"

"No," Ramone Carriera said. "It is what we say when we meet someone we do not wish to forget. It is an offer of friendship, and a prayer too, that God will keep that friendship in His memory, and if we forget each other... He will remember for us, and when the Long Night is over, for us, if not the world... He will bring us back together and say "Ramone, you remember Lucius: Lucius, you remember Ramone," and we will say 'Ah, of course!" and we will go off and find dinner together, as we shall now, on this first night we meet."

Lucius hesitated. If Abraxas were to find out, he knew, that he was accepting a formal offer of friendship from a Muggleborn, lethifolds would be the least of his worries.

_Did you come across the world to see the same way? To think the same thoughts? To go back, in the end, the same as you were when you left? If that is what you expect, and what you want, you should go home now._

"Very well." He took the offered hand, and said formally in his own turn... "I will remember your name if you will remember mine."

Ramone Carriera smiled radiantly. Lucius Malfoy nearly jumped out of his skin as he leaned in and boldly brushed his lips with his... The young Brazilian sniggered at his shocked expression.

"Europeans," he said. "So proper, always."

"Never mind that we just met," Lucius said austerely, "I have a _girlfriend_ , Carriera."

"Mm," Carriera teased. "This is what you say when a boy kisses you, Malfoy-from-England? Not 'I do not like men, Carriera', but only 'I have a girlfriend'?"

"Let me rephrase that. I have _Narcissa Black_."

"And that translates as..."

"I may remember your name, but the only one I will ever call out, in the light _or_ the dark, is hers. As such, and that being the case... Your gender is entirely irrelevant."

Ramone sighed sadly, then brightened. "There is nothing for it then," he said. "You must introduce us!"

"I... Beg your pardon?"

"She is not here," he said logically. "I am. England is very far: too far for even your longest-wand-ever-made to light her nights, heh? So you will tell her that she may find a friend while you are away, and perhaps..." He paused tantalizingly.

"I. Do. Not. _Think_. So."

"What, you are married already? You are far too young to make that kind of commitment."

"Engaged, anyway: effectively, if not officially, and I am far too intelligent, even at my age,  _not_ to make that kind of commitment. One does not turn down such an opportunity when such a woman as Narcissa offers it. And she's not at our school right now anyway," he added. "She's on an exchange year too, in Uganda."

"Very nice. They have letters in Uganda too, yes? You can write to her there as well as to England."

"Scotland. Hogwarts is in Scotland. And no."

"You will write to her and tell her of me anyway," he directed as he stood and went to the shadowless closet. Lucius caught the green school robes he tossed him, and pulled them on. "Here in South America, when we make a friend it is a commitment for life, heh? All here is a commitment for life, and to life, and so I will be her friend too, through you."

"Do you play Quidditch?" Lucius asked him as he rebound his hair. Ramone scoffed as he straightened the books on his night table.

"No. It is a silly game."

"What? It is  _not_!" He looked genuinely affronted.

"It is. I am a speed racer instead. The fastest in the school!" the young Brazilian boasted. "I will show you the course we practice on on the weekend, and you will see for yourself."

"And so modest too!"

Ramone just waved him off. "Does she have any sisters, this queen of your heart?" he asked, nodding to the photo a. Lucius guffawed.

"Two," he said. "One has a boyfriend though, and the other... The other I would not wish on my worst enemy. Though, that being said, he seems rather determined to bugger himself with her anyway, with or without my encouragement."

"I will introduce you to my brother," Ramone said sympathetically. "He has truly terrible, terrible taste in women. I am afraid, always, when I receive a letter from him from university, on what he will tell me of the one he has met now."

"He is older than you?"

"Yes. He is twenty four. You will like him very much, when you come home with me to Rio de Janeiro to visit."

"I am not sure... That is very kind of you, but my father..."

"It will be fine," Ramone reassured him. "My mother, she works for the American Embassy there. We do not have to tell him that it is the Nomaj Embassy, or that she cleans the offices. Unless he will ask questions, and find out?"

"No. He assumes that I am like him, and that I would never voluntarily associate with Muggles or Muggleborns."

"And you allow him to think this?"

"Yes," his new room-mate said shortly. "He, and certain other people of our unfortunate acquaintance, have very specific plans for me. It would not be prudent - or healthy - to disillusion them on my true opinions of their political views."

Ramone Carriera turned to examine him closely.

"Lucius," he said. "Light-bringer. I will remember. You will remember too, heh? Not just my name, but your own."

"I intend to try," Lucius said. "But..."

He sank down on the bed. Ramone sat beside him again.

"We have just met," he said. "But this can be good too, Malfoy-from-England. It is easier, sometimes, to talk to someone who does not know you."

"Are you always like this?" Malfoy-from-England asked. "When you meet someone new?"

"No," Ramone admitted. "It is not a surprise, that I have had my own room till you came. Most people, they think, how do you say... That I am a bit much? But they told me that you were coming, and I thought, this is good! I will make him my friend before he has time to see how much I am, and then it will be too late for him!"

"Perhaps if you did not go about saying that Quidditch is a silly game? Or offering your tongue as an alternative to your handshake?"

"But it _is_ silly! Do you know in Peru and in Sweden, they practice by playing with dragons? And we live in the jungle, with all the trees and vines and foliage!  Games, they can go for months, if the Snitch is in a bad mood, _or_ in a good one!"

"Mm. And the tongue?"

"You are English. I have read much on the English and the traditions in the boarding schools there. You do not have to leave all your customs behind just because you are across the world now, and I have been assigned to help you feel at home besides, heh?" He smiled disarmingly, his dark eyes dancing suggestively.

"You are a most considerate host, Mr. Carriera," Lucius said dryly. "I look forward greatly to reading my girlfriend's response to your rationalization there, once I have written that letter to introduce you." He reached for his folder and sorted through till he found his map. "Alright. I feel quite acquainted with our room now, and the nausea has faded sufficiently. Shall we?"

Mr. Carriera just grinned, bowed with a flourish, and gestured him grandly toward the door... Lucius Malfoy gripped his map in his long, elegant hand, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders under the unfamiliar green robes, and stepped firmly out into (and he could only, despite the uneasy and utterly terrifying associations there, think it a _hopeful_ portent) the bright and unshadowed unknown.

* * *

 

**Gringotts: London**

**1991**

Grabscale's razored teeth ground. Audibly. Malfoy waited with breathless anticipation. Cartwright sighed.

"Okay," he said abruptly.  "Okay. Here's the deal. I'm not going public. I'm not going to make any official confirming statements - to anyone - that you made any deals to assassinate me. I'm not making any  Unbreakable Vows to that effect; you're just going to have to take my word for it, but if you fulfill my terms, and relay my conditions to your Big Boss, and he lets me know that he accepts, this is as far as it goes, the details on the drug-dealing included."

Malfoy blinked. That, of all things... Of _all_ things... He had most certainly _not_ expected.

" _What_?" Grabscale was genuinely shocked. "Why would you do that?"

"Because no matter how annoyed I am with  you right now, never mind astonished at your incompetence, your specific plans to kill me, Mr. Grabscale, however unintentional, resulted in enormous good. You're just lucky I am as good as I am. Half a million lethifolds, and half a million more in a month? How long do you think that the populations of South America and Central America could withstand that kind of onslaught? How much longer do you think that the people there could contain knowledge of that threat from the rest of this blindly and willingly  ignorant world, as they've been containing it for the last thousand years? I grew _up_ in Brazil, Mr. Grabscale.  I know how bad it is. _Just_ how bad it is, and has been, and that there is not one family, not _one family_ , not one _person_ there who has not lost someone they loved to that foul plague. And I know that no one outside knows, because till now, there has been no way to contain the threat, and no one from whom they could seek help, and knowing that... They've kept the horror to themselves, because they didn't want to frighten anyone when there was nothing they could do to reassure them."

Grabscale shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't often have cause to thank someone for trying to kill me," Cartwright said quietly. "And I'm not thanking you now. I'm not interested in holding this particular grudge, though. I don't owe you that... But insofar as that goes, I'm going to allow you to reap the benefits."

"In exchange for..."

"What I was promised. The bounties on those that I killed. There's no set price on lethifolds, I know, so... I'm asking you, man-to-man, Mr. Grabscale. What do you think my efforts are worth?"

Lucius sat back under the security goblin's collar as the Head of Gringotts: London stared at him, shaken. His expression was guileless, unguarded... Wondering, even.

 _Man to_ man? _Oh, Master Cartwright. One word, one word and so goes the goblin nation, not to its grave, but to its knees._

"The ICW will be awarding you the International Cross of Service," the goblin said, after a long minute. It was almost... tentative. "We have heard that you have declined the monetary award?"

"Mm. Under the circumstances, it seemed rather crass to accept."

"Gringotts: London is authorized to offer you equivalent compensation," Grabscale said. His expression was still one of wonder, though muted now, and the grating harshness lacked rather in conviction. "Weasley did nothing but warm your broom, so there is nothing to be offered there, but in terms of the broken contract..."

The words stuck.

"Split the money into two vaults," Cartwright said quietly. "One under my name, and one under his. Add whatever forfeit you are obliged to pay Mr. Weasley into the second. Too, I want a Unbreakable Vow from your Big Boss that there will be no more contracts of assassination accepted on anyone, Mr. Grabscale, from any branch of Gringotts or any of its employees, regardless of race or nation, _ever_ \- and again, that the drug dealing will stop.'

_"What?"_

"I'm afraid that I can't be associated with any business that offers murder for hire," Cartwright said. "Nor can I encourage any of my relatives or familial associates to trust their assets with an institution that could very well stand to profit from their deaths. It rather goes against my code of honour, you see? I guard. I _protect_. I do not, and will not, ally myself, fiscally or otherwise, with killers."

There was a pause. The strained, apoplectic expression on Grabscale's face, Malfoy knew, was not so much a reflection of offense taken at the words 'murder for hire' or 'killers' as it was at the words 'nor can I encourage any of my relatives or familial associates to trust their assets with an institution that could very well stand to profit from their deaths'. Cartwright had, indeed, touched on the exact reason why the Head of Gringotts: International had assigned the hit on the young Warder in the first place. His obvious alliances with the now-ridiculously-wealthy Remus Lupin and always-ridiculously-wealthy Sirius Black and his relationship to Augusta Longbottom, now the third wealthiest individual in Great Britain thanks to the Lestrange's supplements of her family's already considerable vaults, would not have been enough to garner potentially fatal interest, but when one threw in Cartwright's ridiculous accomplishments and power levels, and the integrity implied in his seeking of his International Mastery in Warding...

Yes, Malfoy thought. The goblins would have realized as soon as Cartwright set foot in England that such a man, particularly given his connections to the Longbottoms, would have drawn Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's attention as a prime candidate from whom to request Solace. The idea of such a man as that connective biological link between the now-three richest families in Great Britain... Three now solidly confirmed and Light families united by Solace, and forming in the aftermath a permanent alliance, and one with ties to America no less, that would effectively control the economy through their fortunes...

The thought would have horrified the goblins as much as the thought of a controlling alliance of Blacks, Lestranges and Malfoys via Voldemort had horrified the young Lucius and Narcissa - perhaps even more so, because the only power that the goblin nation had, _anywhere_ , was economic. They relied, absolutely, on a balanced distribution of fiscal resources to maintain their influence. Voldemort had unnerved them, but when it came down to it, the goblins hadn't truly feared him a) because the Dark Lord appreciated the status quo - he would allow the goblins their power base because it would keep them in line, and b) because they knew that it was only a matter of time before he, and those he allied with, would self-destruct, leaving them comfortably back at square one.

Cartwright was an _unknown_. An unknown seeking his third International Mastery, and registered to obtain his Grandmastery in Combat Dueling. There was, within any given ten year period, only one International Grandmaster in the world - the acknowledged and proven best of the best. The competition was not large, but it was fierce - all on the levels of a Grindelwald or Dumbledore, though neither man had ever fought for the title - and the skills necessary to win were usually not acquired till a witch or wizard was at least seventy. Cartwright was thirty, and didn't just rely on his magical skill. He had youth, health, and defensive resources. If there was one near-universal weakness among duelists past the certain point, it was an over-dependence on their offensive abilities. The final matches of the Global Invitationals were inevitably a battle to see who could hit hardest, fastest. Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs, till October, was the favoured... That wand of hers, yew and Nundu spine, was  - there was no other word for it - obscenely powerful, never mind the woman herself. A youthful forty nine, the native Kenyan measured in at six foot eight inches and three hundred pounds of solid, utterly magnificent muscle... She wasn't the fastest among the contenders, but she didn't need to be. From the time she was fifteen, the precedent had been set - those who she knocked off their feet did not rise again, at least not to fight again that day. The general consensus among those who followed the dueling circuits was that if Voldemort had ever had the foresight (or ability) to recruit the woman, he wouldn't have bothered with recruiting the rest of the Death Eaters. He wouldn't have needed to. Malfoy wasn't prepared to go that far, but given that, he'd been very, _very_ careful to subtly discourage any interest that Riddle had shown in her. Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs was not remotely inclined toward the Dark Arts, but she was still human, and the number of humans who could resist the Imperius Curse were few and far between indeed.

No, Malfoy wasn't prepared to say that she could have won the war for Voldemort, or for the Light, for that matter, on her own. Still, she was going to have a considerable job knocking a Master-Adept in Warding - one who had stood against an army of trained duelists and his own wands for thirty nine minutes and twelve seconds without casting a _single offensive spell_ \- off his feet. The goblins weren't prepared to take a risk on such a man knocking them off their economic feet, so the order had been sent out to dispose of him before he became too visible to dispose of - that is, before the Malfoys formally approached him, and the bookies (and the rest of the world) got the chance to see what they were dealing with. Not prepared to send in an actual hit witch or wizard against a man of such prodigious talents, they'd decided to recruit the one guaranteed unbeatable foe on the planet... The lethifolds, via a jiggered portkey.

"We do not," Grabscale said. Malfoy was struck - again - at the tentativeness in his voice. At his obvious need for this impossibility who had spoken to him, and addressed him - a _goblin_ \- as if he were a _man_ \- to understand. "No matter what you may think of us, Master-Adept Cartwright, accept clients on whim. A certain variety of individual... Their continued ability to function on the purely vital level is inadvisable, to the say the least."

"Uh huh. And what was it I did to anyone again?"

He was silent.

"Look," Cartwright said tiredly. "I know what you're thinking, okay? What you're all thinking. I'm not him. I have no interest in being him. Anything like him, or like anyone like him. Is it so hard to believe, really, that their are people who train themselves and hone their talents in order to help others? To protect them _from_ that kind of individual?"

"On your level? Yes," he said bluntly, and now there was a bit of bitterness there. "You are unprecedented. You have the power, on all levels, Master-Adept Cartwright, should you wish it, to rule the world. The power, the connections, and the fiscal ability, through your associates again."

"I don't want to rule the world. It's too much goddamned paperwork."

"Then why the Grandmastery in Dueling?"

"Don't you people ever do something just for the joy of it?  I never ran the circuit; I've only ever employed my skills there for work, and now that I'm changing careers, I like the idea of having a bit of fun. And yeah, I guess I'd  like to see just how good I really am, but not to scare or intimidate people with it. After the point, it's been hard to meet people on my level, and the thought of actually breaking a sweat for a change is kind of a novelty in and of itself."

Grabscale sat back, eyeing him narrowly.

"We have not been able to find any information on your priors," he said. "And we have looked. On every level. It is very, very difficult to hide from the goblins, Master-Adept."

"Not when you're as good at wards as I am." He glanced at his watch. "D'you suppose we could get on with it? I haven't eaten yet, and my day's nowhere near over."

"You are willing to trust our word that what you ask will be done after you reset the wards?"

The lips quirked.

"Tomorrow's payday," he said. "D'you have a choice but to trust _my_ word that I'm trusting _you?_ "

Grabscale rubbed his ridged temples.

"I will send a note with your codicils," he said. "Beyond the payment of the bounties and the setting up of the two vaults, they are out of my immediate jurisdiction."

'Do your best. Take it from me, you'd be surprised at how well you can do when you've got the appropriate motivation." He got to his feet, and held out his hand. Grabscale snarled at him automatically.

"Don't be like that," the Warder said in accent-perfect Gobbledegook. "I'm only living up to your expectations, after all. You wouldn't take me seriously if I didn't threaten you at least a little."

Grabscale's eyes widened. The thud of jaws dropping sounded all through the room.

"Where did you learn to speak our language?" he demanded.

"Same place I learned everything else I know," Cartwright said. "Here and there. Correspondence can be sent to Hogwarts, for now anyway."

"Would you like us to have food brought in," he said reluctantly. "While you work on the wards?"

"No, no." He dug into his pocket, extracting a battered sheet of parchment. "Here you go. Specific vaults in the first column, original passwords in the second, my alternates in the third. Just go on down, reset the master wards - I've written the procedure on the back - and then it's just a case of re-keying each individually."

_"You've been walking around with the keys and instructions on how to re-key the master wards of Gringotts: London in your trouser pockets?"_

"Safest place in the world, I promise. Would you try to take them off me?"

 _The keys and instructions,_ Lucius thought, _definitely not. The trousers, on the other hand..._

"Your guy Griphook will have to do that, though," Cartwright continued. "I've keyed the verbals to my memories of his voice.'

"Griphook? The junior account manager's assistant?"

"Yeah. He wasn't involved, no worries. I just met him the first time I came in, and he made a good impression.  I liked - like - him a lot. You can put him on as my vault manager if you're inclined; he gave me some leads on a couple of local Nomaj companies as investment prospects, and when I checked them out, it was obvious that he'd done his research. Nice to see that kind of non-prejudicial initiative." He pushed himself up and retrieved his cap, settling it over his hair. The badger smirked as it sprawled over his left eyebrow... Lucius nearly fell off his goblin as out of the corner of his third eye, he caught...

Grabscale jerked back, nearly knocking over his chair as he scrambled to his feet.

"What the...'

"Uh? Oh." Cartwright held up his hand, spreading the fingers wide and examined the back. Juxtaposed over it, and slid out of his sleeve, a black scaly clawed forelimb - definitely draconic in nature - was now extending beyond the tips of his fingers as a flat, bizarrely extended tattoo, "That. Yeah, it's a little weird, isn't it? It happened when Charlie was healed by the Horntail wands. He's got one too."

"What is it?"

"A memento of the occasion. Very cool, really, like magical tats, but... Not. They wrap around our torsos and backs: not just the forelimbs, but the whole dragons. We're still figuring out the implications, but at the very least, we've realized that we can talk to each other like Horntails do, by projecting images and emotions at each other, if not words. Oop. Hold on. Incoming." He defocused. "Ah. Okay. I'm sorry, I gotta go. He's on his way to meet me here now, after his stop-off at Honeyduke's in Hogsmeade." He poked at the overlaid, flat forelimb. It retreated down his sleeve reluctantly. "Back you go. That's it. And would you please, _please_ stop poking at my bio-runes? No, you can't hurt them, but that's beside the point. It's like walking into someone's house and putting your grotty fingerprints all over the glassed art on the walls. It's an analogy.  I know you know that one, even if metaphors are beyond you."

"You're saying that the souls of the Horntails are now... _Inside_ you?"

"No," Cartwright said. "I think it's like post-mortem portraits-with-benefits. Whereever they are now, the souls that is, they left a bit of their reflected essence with us."

"Will it give you an advantage at the Invitationals?"

The pierced eyebrow raised at that.

"The question _will_ be asked," Grabscale said, almost defensively. "Formally. Artificial enhancements are strictly forbidden."

"There's nothing artificial about them," Cartwright said. "But that being said... No. I'll be putting a bio-runic lock on myself that will temporarily immobilize them. They'll be effective Nomaj tattoos for the duration of the competition.'

"And they'll be alright with that?" It sounded rather dubious. "The dragons, I mean?"

"They're not actually alive, Mr. Grabscale. Portraits aren't. Insofar as their ability to move about on me, they do seem to work as magical tattoos do - the images borrow my magic to fuel their ability to pass over my body. The bio-rune will block their access to the flow from my core. Essentially, they'll go to sleep while I do my thing, and when I'm done, I'll erase the bio-runes and they'll wake up again."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. I'll have to experiment a bit with the inks, but I've done it before, in a way. I mentioned my ability to remove bio-runes that others had placed, well, before you can do that, you have to freeze the effects they project through the body, so that they don't activate while you're..." He stopped. "Sorry. It's dead dull if you're not interested, I know."

"I'm not uninterested," Grabscale said stiffly. "Or incapable of understanding."

Cartwright looked down at him.

"You know," he said. "There are no laws governing the use of bio-runics.  And there are quite a lot of them that don't require the use of a wand."

The goblin's eyes widened.

"You are saying that you would break the laws of humankind and teach us your magics?'

"Runes aren't magic, Mr. Grabscale. They _conduct_ magic. Goblins might not be able to use wands, but there's nothing says you're not allowed to buy brewed inks, is there?'

Grabscale shook his head.

"So you buy the inks," Cartwright said. "You learn the runes. You inscribe them appropriately. And the magic _in_ you does the rest. It's honestly, honestly, not nearly as complicated as people think. Or rather, seem to want to think." He quirked at him as he adjusted his scarf. "From my perspective, mystery, intrigue and untoward excitement are all very well, but best saved for books. Preventing messes isn't nearly as glamorous as fixing messes, but on the other hand, it's a job that allows you the luxury of getting home in time for dinner. Never mind the luxury of getting home for dinner at all."

Grabscale said nothing, just watched him go. Malfoy swung neatly onto Cartwright's collar as he passed, riding him out. The door closed behind him... He swung onto a pillar as he returned to the front lobby, launching himself toward the high ceiling and bounding across toward the loo... Less than thirty seconds later he emerged, human again, striding purposefully across the floor, slightly surprised smile intact, toward the two figures now standing beside the single man sitting on the marble bench by the front doors.

"Lawrence?"

Cartwright turned. The Weasley brothers followed his gaze.

"Malfoy," the Warder said, a bit warily. "Hello."

"Narcissa and I received your letter this morning," Malfoy said cordially. "We were so pleased to hear your news. All of your news."

"Good," Cartwright said, after a pause, and then. "Erhm. You were?"

"Yes, of course." He turned, bowing slightly to Charlie. "I am afraid there is no protocol for this type of situation, Mr. Weasley. May I simply then offer my congratulations, again on all fronts?"

"Sure," the young dragon wrangler said. "Why not." He held out his freckled, solid and sturdy hand. He fairly glowed as he pushed his winter hood back, the entire lobby seemed warmed with the ruddy, cheerful light of a blazing fire. He looked, the blond wizard thought, aggressively, almost rudely healthy, particularly next to his fragile, drawn brother. "Charlie Weasley. Ren's fiance."

"Lucius Malfoy," he returned, taking the offered hand. It was warm and dry and firm, and the brown, steady eyes meeting his, never mind the posture, projected the ease and native self-assurance and confident charisma of a man three times the boy's nineteen years. "Narcissa's husband."

"Our regards to the lady," Weasley said, and without the slightest iota of what some might think age-appropriate diffidence or embarrassment at all -  "Lucky coincidence, this. Listen, Malfoy; our schedule's really tight the next couple days. I'm not going to have time to do research along the traditional channels, so we'll just call this fate and go with it. What can I bring her on Wednesday?"

"She is very fond of black cherry truffles," Malfoy said. He felt, though he knew he didn't show it, decidedly off-balance as he recalled Ollivander's words - _that is one formidable young man._ "Dark, not milk, and leaf peppermint tea from Fortnum and Mason. Green tin, not red; they mix that lot with chamomile, and she's mildly allergic."

"So noted. Brilliant." The dragon wrangler caught Cartwright's bemused look and laughed. "I'll fill you in later. No worries, mate."

"You said something that _you_ could bring her. Should I be bringing her something too, then?" Cartwright asked uncertainly. Malfoy smiled at him. It was odd, he thought. Young Weasley would not be twenty till February, and Cartwright thirty one in July, but next to each other, their ages, as portrayed through their body language, seemed definitively reversed.

_Interesting._

"I am sure she would appreciate the gesture," he said. "But it is not expected. Please do not worry, Lawrence. Narcissa and I understand that you are still accustoming yourself to the Euro-American cultural differentials, never mind that this has all happened so very quickly and  unexpectedly, and adherence to what some might think traditional rules is really not an issue in our instance anyway, is it?"

Young Weasley's lips quirked at him in appreciative, wry acknowledgement. Cartwright just eyed him uncertainly.

"I suppose," he said finally, and ran his hand over his hair again. "Look, I..."

He stopped.

"Mate," Charlie said gently. "It's okay. Really. Trust me, alright? This is about as far from the typical situation as it gets, on all fronts, and we're all just playing it by ear as a result, yeah?" He glanced over at the bench. Bill was now leaning back against the wall, face pale and lips locked hard: his near-bruised eyes closed. The dragon wrangler's own lips twisted, and he seemed to make an abrupt decision. "You in a hurry, Malfoy?"

"Not terribly. Narcissa is out this evening with Andromeda, so I am not expected. How may I be of assistance?"

"I need to get Billy home to bed. Long day, and Ren's doing surgery on him tomorrow. He needs to rest up. Why don't you two -" He nodded to Cartwright - "Go for a curry or something, and get to know each other a little?"

" _What?_ Charlie..."

"Go on," Charlie lowered his voice a bit. "He needs a shoulder tonight, I can tell, and if you're there, he'll be too embarrassed to let it all out. Be a good mate, yeah, and let this work to all of our advantages?"

Cartwright looked over at the for-all-intents-and-purposes unconscious figure on the bench, hesitated, then nodded.

"Is there anything I might do to help?" Malfoy asked them again. "In all seriousness?"

"No," Cartwright said. "I don't think..."

"You got a med-elf?" Charlie asked.

"Yes, of course. Florry!" he called. A small neat elf, clad in a pristine white tea-towel and the Malfoy crest, popped in. "Go with the Masters Weasley, please. You are to obey Master Charles to the letter toward the end of caring for Master William, no matter what he may require."

"Yes, Master Lucius." Florry boosted herself up on the bench next to Bill, and petted his shoulder. "Poor Master William. Florry will take good care of you." Pale yellow light eased out of her tiny hand. Bill's face actually seemed to ease a little. "There. That is helping, yes? You is going to be just fine. Or at least, when we get you home you is going to be sleeping, which is probably being the best thing for you, and what it is looking like you should have been doing all day anyway."

"Brilliant," Charlie said. "Alright, we're off." He kissed Cartwright's cheek, chuckling at the mildly panicked, betrayed look of reproach on the man's face. Lucius had to bite back a smile himself. "Have fun, now."

Seconds later, he and Bill and Florry were gone. Cartright gazed at the spot where they had disappeared hopefully, as if willing them to reappear... When they didn't, he sighed, turned back, and shifted a bit awkwardly.

"I suppose I am a little hungry at that," he said. "Though I'm not really dressed for the kind of restaurant you're probably used to."

"You would be surprised. Are you up for a bit of a walk?"

"I guess. Wait." He dug into his pocket. "Arm?"

Malfoy held out his left without hesitation. Cartwright scribed neatly and quickly.

"Rain repellent," he explained. "Just a little one. It'll last a week or so."  

"You are a kind man, Master-Adept," the taller man said, and examining it... "I must say, your efforts are much more aesthetic than my former employer's."

Cartwright snorted. As they left the bank and descended the steps, Malfoy's robes shimmered, leaving him clad in a pair of boots, dark slacks, an oatmeal sweater, and a long winter-weight rain coat. He reached into an inner pocket and extracted a packet.

"You _smoke_?" the Warder said involuntarily. "I mean, beyond your cigars?"

"Now and again. A strictly psychological indulgence, I assure you." Malfoy tapped out a cigarette, tapped it alight, and inhaled deeply. "All harmful substances Vanished." He offered it over. Cartwright hesitated, shrugged and took it, dragging deeply and half-lidding his eyes in pleasure... They passed it back and forth as they made their way down the Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron, then straight through and out the far side into Muggle London.

"I smoked once," Cartwright said, apropos of nothing as they turned left down Charing Cross Road. "For about half an hour, anyway, till my wife found out. It was a very nice half hour. Relaxing, even without the ambient rain and the dark November night. Are there fedoras where we're going, then?"

Malfoy just laughed. He flicked the burnt-down cigarette and passed it back yet again. It regrew promptly. Cartwright tapped it to relight it. It could have been a trick of the light, but his companion could have sworn he saw a spark flick out from under the nail, and a swift dark shadow slither under the sleeve again.

"So can I be all American and uneducated on the finer points of society and ask what tea means, exactly?" the Warder ventured as they walked.

"Were these normal circumstances, yes." Malfoy blew a slim stream of smoke out of the corner of his fine, straight lips. "I would even owl you the book. Under the circumstances, I think it fairly safe to say we're writing our own. Within the now very loosely structured parameters... Tea is a euphemism. It will be on the tray of course, but there will also be a wide variety of alcoholic drinks in the informal sitting room where, if we forgo the niceties directly and simply admit to each other that we are all mildly terrified, things will proceed on the much more mutually comfortable level."

"You didn't seem that terrified on Saturday."

"Did I not? Excellent. If I managed to convince you, I more than likely convinced everyone else."

Cartwright actually laughed at that... They passed the now twice-renewed cigarette back and forth till they reached the corner, where, much to Cartwright's obvious surprise, the wizard gestured to the staircase leading down to the Underground.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but why aren't we apparating?"

"I am a strategist, Master Cartwright. Much of the important - everything, some might say - is based on the assessing of information found on the journeys between here and there, and is difficult to assess anything, at any point, when one is being squeezed as a tube of toothpaste to the point of violently sicking up."

"Apparating makes you sick?" He sounded interested, rather than condemning.

"Distressingly so. And yes, there are potions for that, I am well aware, but as they taste like absolute bollocks, I prefer to refrain whenever it is humanly possible."

Cartwright sniggered. Malfoy rolled his eyes at him.

"Yes, yes. Laugh away. I am hardly the only Magical who despises the particular form of travel, and for the particular reasons too. It is a real and surprisingly common problem."

"I'm well aware. I was just thinking that now I know exactly what to offer you as a Solstice gift."

"Oh?"

"Spoilers, man. You're the type who reads the last chapter first, aren't you?"

"Actually... I am the type who prefers to write the last chapter." Malfoy ground the cigarette beneath his boot as they descended the steps, turned the corner and entered the waiting train. Cartwright slouched in a seat and examined him as he seated himself opposite, and of course, elegantly.

"I get that," he conceded. "Though any books I wrote would be dead boring. People always want to cast me as the hero, and it's highly over-rated, you know? I'd probably project horribly."

"Pain, pain and more pain," Malfoy agreed. "And the compensation packet is never quite correlative to one's efforts."

A small, brief smile flickered over the pleasant, scarred features.

"Maybe we should just take own rewards as they present themselves?" he suggested. "Since we're stuck, when it comes right down to it, to living through the turning pages in the proper order just as if we really were ordinary people after all?"

"There are always sequels," Malfoy conceded in turn. "Very well." He stretched out his long legs, glancing about... The car was quite empty.  A fedora sparkled into being on his blond head. "Shall we consider tonight, then, the beginning of a potentially beautiful friendship?"

"So laying one on me on a dais in front of three thousand people was... What... The prologue? And... I gotta ask. Kipling is one thing, but you know _Bogart_? He's movies, not books!"

There was a pause.

"I had another friend once," Lucius Malfoy said finally. "Who introduced us. Cinematically speaking."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"There is. My story. My entire story, really, when it comes right down to it, or at least where it began, and ended, and began again."

"King's Cross." 

"Mm?"

"The train station." The small smile flickered again, with just a touch of whimsy this time. "It's where my own story began and ended and began again. Not the entire story though, it seems.  Now... Now I suppose, I'm on that sequel you mentioned."

"And how has it gone so far?"

"Death, pain, distraction, surprises, love, hope, renewal, second chances, revisited priorities and thoroughly, as you Brits would say, _thoroughly_ buggered plans and plotlines. Also, Dark Wankers. Always with the Dark Wankers, in one form if not the other. For the record, and in my third book? I'm putting in the request right now. Absolutely no Dark Wankers allowed. Anywhere."

Malfoy laughed. Loudly, and rose. "Our stop. Shall we?"

"Sure. As long as you know where we're going, anyway. One of us should, yeah?"

"Two blocks down, half a block onwards. Beyond that, Master Cartwright, I have not a single clue. There will be excellent curry to fortify us for the road though: that much I can promise, and fair-to-middling lager, and pool tables in the back room to boot."

"Awesome. Though..." The Warder checked his watch as they stepped off the train. "I only have about three hours. Late job off the Alley; it won't take me long, but I can't go in till after closing, so..."

"I understand." Malfoy gestured him up the steps. "Once more unto the breach?"

"Yeah, yeah. Cry  'God for Harry, England and St. George!' and all that good shit. I don't know about God and St. George, but Harry, I promise you, wherever he may be, just wants a little peace and quiet."

"I will drink to that. With that fair-to-middling lager, yet!"

And they walked back into the rain-lit night together.

 


	3. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemons, m/m. <3 Don't like, don't read!
> 
> Vocab list (Brazilian Portuguese)
> 
> Padre - Father  
> Senhor - Mr.  
> Sim - yes  
> Nao - no

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Tuesday, November 25, 1991**

**Breakfast**

The owls were launched from the  Ministry of Magic at eight seventeen a.m. precisely. By eight forty five, they had begun (with a little magical encouragement to account for untoward distances) to arrive at their destinations. The responses, by and large, were less than positive.

"What the..." Sirius Black dropped the jar of marmalade he was holding as he leaned over his fiance's shoulder. "'Master-Adept Lawrence Domitian Cartwright (Juneau, Alaska) and Mr. Charles Septimus Weasley (London, England) are pleased to announce...' WHAT???"

"Their marriage," Neil Cartwright read, leaning over Remus' second shoulder as he wrapped a thick, golden wedge of honeycomb tidily in bacon. "As of eight this morning, at the Ministry of Magic in London. The ceremony was performed by Justice Horatia Peabody and witnessed by Mr. Weasley's brother, Mr. William Arthur Weasley. Master-Adept Cartwright (30) wore his best cargo trousers, a classic white t-shirt and a Hogwarts Hufflepuff House scarf in the traditional black and gold, all complemented by the now-trademark wool badger cap knitted for him by Miss Susan Bones, first-year fellow Hufflepuff and niece of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Mr. Weasley (19) wore gold dragon-leather trousers (Peruvian Vipertooth), a 'Dragons Do It (And Everything Else) Dramatically'  t-shirt in dark brown and gold, and the tan cardigan jumper with the dark brown patches on the elbows that he inherited from his paternal grandfather, Septimus Weasley. The grooms' witness wore a Nomaj Brooks Brothers suit in charcoal, and his typical scowly expression.

The couple will be residing at an undisclosed location after their proper honeymoon, also at an undisclosed location. Pressed for details, Master-Adept Weasley-Cartwright was quoted as 'Shyeah, still strapped quite firmly on that turnip truck, thanks, never mind the broom. Three cheers for seat belts and sticking charms!' Congratulations may be sent care of Headmaster Neville 'Neil' Tiberius Cartwright (M.Potions, M.Herbology, Animagus: Giant, Feral and Perpetually Hungry  Alaskan Kodiak) at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Master Weasley-Cartwright (IM DADA, IM Combat Dueling, IM (Adept) Warding - Runic and Spellcasting) respectfully suggests that you keep all Howlers on the subject to yourself.'

'Donations may be sent, in lieu of gifts, to the Janus Thickey Long-Term Care Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital, to the Mind Healers' Training Program at St. Dymphna's Hospice in Yorkshire, or to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary (Horntails Division), care of the Romanian Embassy in London **.'** Huh." Neil set the announcement down and reached for the grilled ham. "Well, good for them, though if the little stinker thinks that means he's getting out of the congratulatory ball I'm throwing for him, he's got another think coming. Tea, Min?"

"Ta, Neil." Minerva McGonagall poured a little cream over her porridge as the Headmaster reached across and poured her a steaming delicate cup.  "And I would'na worry on the ball. Charlie's best friend at Hogwarts was Nymphadora Tonks, and the girl might not be able to cross a room without tripping on her own laces, but dancing's another story, and he was always her preferred partner. She was completely devastated by his diagnosis, Augusta told me - she spent every free moment she could away from the Auror Academy at his bedside, even while he was unconscious - and there's no way she's going to allow him to escape celebrating his recovery, never mind his wedding, in style."

"Mm," Professor Flitwick agreed. "There's no way he'd want to. The two of them got more detentions sneaking out to the clubs on London Muggleside their seventh year... Though we just left them to it for the most part; they never got into any trouble with it, and we knew we wouldn't get any familial support there from the Tonkses at least. Andromeda and Ted were just as bad in their day."

"And the Weasleys?" Neil asked with interest. Pomona Sprout  laughed.

"That was the year Fred and George started at Hogwarts," she said. "Charlie and Tonks' ballroom moves were the least of their worries. Also... _Neil_?" she repeated to Minerva as the Headmaster turned back to his mail. "Since when are we calling him _Neil_? And since when is he calling you _Min_ , and pouring you your _breakfast tea_?"

"Giant, Feral and Perpetually Hungry Alaskan _Kodiak_ ?" Sirius was bellowing. "What am I, a _chihuahua_ ? I am a _Grim!_ I foreshadow DEATH! Which I'm foreshadowing now, because he went and got married WITHOUT US!"

"We've only known him for a few weeks, Siri," Remus said, pinching him in reproving warning under the table. "And yes, we get along with him well, but not quite well enough to insist that he take us into consideration when making his major life decisions."

"We've invited him to _our_ wedding! We're even moving it to New Year's Eve so that it won't conflict with his investiture in New York on _Christmas_ Eve! Do you know how long it's been since I've been to a proper wedding, Moonlight? When one counts the years I was rotting in Azkaban, that is, because I most _definitely_ do? Nobody ever got married there because there would be _Kissing_ involved!"

"Don't take it too hard," Neil counseled him sympathetically. "Given the memories of the fiasco that passed for his wedding the first time around, he probably panicked a little. Biggest circus you ever saw in your life, and they got through it alright, but it scarred him. Hell, it scarred _me_ , and all I had to do was arrange the flowers."

Sirius just grumbled into his oatmeal... Down the table, Lily Potter, robbed of expression, was staring at the announcement in front of her as Snape leaned in and murmured quietly and inaudibly to her. Whatever he was saying was promptly drowned out by the clamour breaking out all over the Great Hall as more owls arrived with more announcements.

" _EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_!" The squeals from Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown and Hermione Granger's end of Gryffindor Table were only matched by the looks of dismay from Percy, Fred, George and Ron Weasley as they perused their own letter.

" _Married_?" Ron repeated. "Or rather... _Eloped_ ? Welp, _there_ goes Christmas, yeah?"

"Maybe they'll invite us over to their new place for the festivities so that Mum can have her foaming rabid fit in peace?" George suggested. "Where _do_ you reckon they plan to live?"

"Far, far away." Fred slurped pumpkin juice. "If they have any sense whatsoever. Tibet should do it. D'you reckon it was Bill's idea?  Eloping, I mean?"

"Of course it was." Percy helped himself to an extra sausage to fortify himself. "And for the record? I'm offering him up my entire year's worth of points in the Intra-Weasley House Competition as a reward. Can you just imagine the train-wreck she would have made out of a wedding there, especially since we can afford it now?" The other three boys shuddered in unison.

"He can have mine too," Ron agreed. "Even if he has gone and ruined Christmas, the great git." A large tawny owl, obviously pre-warned, dropped a stack of pale envelopes high over Hufflepuff Table and made a  frantic beeline for the window... The envelopes drifted down as parchment snowflakes. The 'Puffs seized them, piling over each other to read the details eagerly. Eyes widened, mouths dropped...

"Oop," Tamsin Applebee said as the tall girl with short messy blonde hair and glass-sharp cheekbones perused the announcement she'd ungraciously and curiously seized from Yara Summersby. Said girl's jaw froze, then actually seemed to seize around her vigorous mouthful of black pudding as her eyes bulged... "Breathe, Rhodes. In... Out... In... Out... No. Swallow. Swallow, _then_ breathe. It's not the end of the world, I prom..."

"Bugger _that_." Jessamyn Rhodes slammed the announcement down as she rose from her seat at Hufflepuff Table. "No. _Bugger_ that! THIS. IS. NOT. _ACCEPTABLE_!"

"Don't look at me," Neil said, not particularly quietly as all the teachers looked at him hopefully. "I may be the Headmaster, but he's my grandson. Total conflict of interest."

"Coward," Pomona Sprout muttered, and rose to her feet. "Now now, Jessamyn. We've talked about this, dear; time and place, remember, _and_ accepting the sadly inevitable gracefully?"

"SADLY INEVITABLE? SADLY _INEVITABLE_ ? WHAT, YOU THINK THAT JUST BECAUSE I'M - _WE'RE_ \- HUFFLEPUFFS THAT WE HAVE TO SUCK UP _EVERYTHING_?"

"No," a disembodied Slytherin said. "That one's all on you, I've heard. We've _all_ heard."

"MR. _MARLEY_!"

"It's okay, Professor Snape. I've got it." A sharp smack sounded, and a sharper yelp. "Shut your gob, Marley. And as for you, Rhodes... Give it _over_ already," Rhonda Fawley said impatiently. "And grow a little self-respect and personal dignity while you're at it? Done's done when all's said and done, and you never had a chance there anyway. None of us did, if his wife was really so brilliant that he had to switch to blokes before he could get on with his life."

"That is not how it works, you moron. Also, not the point. The _point_ is, that even if he is Weasley's now, and my _personal_ feelings on the matter _aside,_ he's still ours too. Hufflepuff's, that is. Helga _entrusted_ him to us, and then he _chose_ us, and HUFFLEPUFFS NEVER GRADUATE; it is a FACT, no a UNIVERSAL LAW, so  if he thinks he can just bugger off and get married without us, HE IS SADLY, SADLY MISTAKEN. His grandfather's Headmaster, and his brothers-in-law all go to school here, so he's got to come back sometime. And when he does..." Her brown eyes gleamed.

"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTY!" the Hufflepuffs chanted. "PARTY, PARTY, PARTY, PARTY, PAR..."

"So," another of the Slytherins drawled, lounging back in the midst of the furor. "How d'you think this'll affect tea on Wednesday, Malfoy? Think your parents'll be able to manage one more on the sofa? Or in your father's case, over the back of it, or the arm of it, or..."

Sniggers ran around the table. Draco Malfoy sniffed loftily as he sliced into his sausage.

"If you're trying to suggest that I should be ashamed," he said. "Because my parents are the unfortunate victims of a curse that, for the record, they did not exactly lay on themselves, Bole, you will need to find another approach. I happen to be quite proud of them for refusing to allow  the particulars to prevent them from holding to a standard of honour and duty  that none of you can even begin to grasp. Never mind that the proxy involved would have all of _your_ fathers on their knees begging for it, _and_ your mothers too, if all their slags of daughters here at Hogwarts are any indication. Thirty nine minutes and twelve _seconds,_ Bole, never mind the Grandmastery he was awarded for it, and the second one he's going to get in January for... What was it again... Combat Dueling?  The platinum wand there will look lovely on the family mantle next to the International Cross of Service, don't you think?"

"Counting your chickens there, Malfoy," Terence Higgs said. "He's a prime bloke, no doubt about that, but Namirembe's still got her yew and nundu, and he's out the Horntails now, isn't he?"

"He didn't have them when he got his International Mastery, and that's all anyone else competing has got. And your ox of a sister-in-law might hit like a falling mountain, but she's got to land _on_ him first, doesn't she? _And_ get through his police box, and they're not going to refuse to allow him to use that, are they? At the Invitationals..." Draco smirked. " _Anything_ goes."

Across the room, at Ravenclaw Table again, Leanna Tovis seemed to be having a minor epileptic fit... Alicia Spinnet patted her on the back and leaned in to read the front page of the Prophet that she'd just unrolled.

**COMPETITIVE FIELD CUT BY  A FULL QUARTER AS ALL SOUTH, CENTRAL AMERICAN AND PACIFIC ISLAND CONTENDERS ISSUE NOTICE OF COLLECTIVE WITHDRAWAL FROM THE 1992 GLOBAL INVITATIONALS**

"What the..."

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my _God! Why_?"

"What do you mean, _why_ ?" Anthony Goldstein: Ravenclaw said blankly. "Do you really think that any of them would lift a wand against him after he went and fluffed and folded over a thousand years worth of their built-up dirty laundry for them? Never mind the mandatory international holidays and probable renaming of the Amazon _River_ after him, you can't throw a _lumos_ down there without hitting a Catholic! The entire continent-plus is going to be putting in the petition to their Pope to make a _verkatke_ saint out him, and as for we Jews? Hello? Lethifolds? The prompting embodiments of the greatest Jewish _curse_ of all time: 'may-your-name-and-memory-be-erased?' Even my bubbe got a little _verklempte_ when she heard the news, and asked me if I knew anybody from that part of the world here at Hogwarts who could use a nice batch of _rugeleh_ to help them through the cross-denominational overwhelming moment!"

"BUT IT'S THE _INVITATIONALS_ !" Leanna wailed. "CAN'T THEY WAIT TO CANONIZE HIM TILL _AFTER_ THE INVITATIONALS?"

"It's a good thing he didn't have that attitude last week," Gabe Truman observed from Hufflepuff Table. "On waiting to exorcise Brazil when everyone else was inclined to book the event into their schedules, wasn't it?"

"AHHHHHHHHHH!" She thudded her head on the table. "I HAVE FRONT ROW TICKETS TO SEE EVERY ONE OF THE GREATEST DUELISTS IN THE WORLD HAVE AT IT, AND _TWENTY FIVE BLOODY PERCENT_ OF THEM AREN'T GOING TO _BE_ THERE! ON MORAL _PRINCIPLE_!"

" _Completely_ unacceptable," Rhodes agreed from Hufflepuff Table. "I feel your pain, Tovis, really. Come to the party with me, and I'll make you feel all better, I prom..."

"OI!" Alicia Spinnet roared indignantly. "MINE! PLAN YOUR REBOUND AROUND SOMEONE WHO ISN'T ALREADY TAKEN, YOU..."

"Fastest recovery time in all four Houses," Rhonda Fawley said to Melissa Wong, seated next to her. "Only reason they made her a prefect, she knows the shortest routes to every broom closet in the castle, though she probably only docks points from the people she finds in there if they won't let her join in."

"They'll be there," Goldstein said soothingly to Leanna. "Corner, you're right there, be a _mensch_ and pat her back for me, would you? They just won't be fighting. Maybe they'll use some of their extra time to offer you pointers, wouldn't that be nice?"

Leanna just sobbed into her pancakes. Over in Wiltshire, seated at the breakfast table at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa re-read the announcement that had just arrived... Lucius went to the window and leaned out, tilting his head slightly south-west.

"What on earth are you _doing_ , Luke? It's freezing out there!"

"Listening for the rabid screaming from Ottery St. Catchpole," her husband said. "Ah, there it is. Sound and fury signifying the absolutely nothing she can do about it now." He retreated, slamming the window shut and returned to the breakfast table. "Oh, you needn't give me that look. You despise her just as much as I do."

"I don't _despise_ her. I just find her..." Narcissa searched for the appropriate word.

"Crass?" her beloved offered, pouring her more tea. "Vulgar? Strident? Completely blind and deaf to appropriate subtlety on any level? Despairingly ignorant of the fact that true class, in fact, is entirely free and therefore never out of the reach of those with even her till-now limited budget?"

"That last will do." Narcissa put down the announcement and sighed. "Still. As much as I do dislike her... The last few months have to have been hellishly difficult for her, Lucius. Charlie had a death sentence - _the_ death sentence - hanging over him till this past week; she nearly lost her only daughter to the cabals, and now all these problems with her eldest? Never mind all the relative money in her world that she's had handed to her, it's come with the realization that none of it means anything without your children, hasn't it? I can scarcely blame the woman if she's upset for being denied, as she sees it, a way to celebrate the end of it."

"It's not over yet," Lucius said, suddenly sober again. "Not nearly over, Niss. Even if William recovers physically....That wand would not have bonded with him had there been anything left of him as he was. More to the point, it could not have bonded with him had he not been broken in the first place. Bloodthorn cannot take root in damp or fertilized ground, only places where the soil is dry and barren and cracked. And that he should take no note of the pain of its rooting in his soul... To shrug it off as a 'little twinge'... Never mind that he is, as Ollivander said, yet burning... If he felt nothing but that, he was surely cold ash already."

Narcissa absorbed, or tried to absorb, the implications of that.

"What could have hurt him so badly," she said, troubled. "Raised in that family, Lucius? They may be all those things you listed, but there can be no doubt that they love each other. Whatever victims of abuse Dumbledore overlooked at Hogwarts... They couldn't have been among them, or do you think it was the curses again after all?"

"The kind of curses that cause that kind of chronic pain - pain that required two vials of mycanthus a week, when a mere dozen drops is enough to kill the unaccustomed body... And infused with Mongolian yak root, yet... The provoking effects couldn't be overlooked, Niss. I can't understand it. Arthur Weasley is a good man. When it comes to his children... A great one. An immovable one. If he'd known his son was in that kind of pain, he would have come to _us_ for help, on his knees if that was what we demanded, before letting the boy indenture himself to the goblins as he did. That can only lead me to one conclusion, that all these years, all these _years_ , from what Cartwright said... He _didn't_ know. That none of them did. And that makes absolutely, absolutely _no_ sense. As close as they all are, _someone_ in that family had to know. It's literally impossible that they _didn't_!"

His wife came around the table and rubbed his iron-tight shoulders, kissing his hair.

"You're contracting," she said gently. "Go to the hospital, Luke. They'll be gathering there now, to wait while Master Cartwright operates on him, and you can find a place to listen and observe. You know - I _know_ \- you'll have no peace till you have answers, and given the wand, and the implications that he is now in the condition you were when you returned from Brazil... I don't know that I will, either."

Lucius Malfoy buried his face in his long elegant hands.

"He's worse," he said. "A thousand times worse, Niss. How can he not be? A thousand years' worth of... And he _knew_. He's worked in South America as a curse-breaker again, so he had to have known. _Everyone_ who goes there knows; you can't _not_ know! To see them all at once, half a _million_ of them, to physically _see_ them... To see the unseen, the unimaginable, the unfathomable: to see that which no one, _no one_ has _ever_ seen, and all at _once... And to act as a witness to the event that ended it..."_

He struggled.

"He wasn't just seeing the murderers, he was watching them vomiting up the _bodies_ , Narcissa. The bodies of the erased children of an entire continent. Maybe an entire continent's worth. Maybe... Maybe even of someone he'd known while he was working down there. And Cartwright had something to do to distract him, but when he volunteered... He had to know there was nothing he could do to help: that all he _could_ do was watch. It's a miracle he's still _sane!_ The only way he can be sane as if he already had the personal and associated context to make sense of it, and again... That makes no sense at _all_!"

"Go," was all she said again. "Find out what you can, for both your own sake and his."

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. She came and sat down on his lap as he wept.

"It's over," she whispered to him, into his ear. "He's avenged, Luke. He's at peace."

"It's not over. It will never be over, because he's still gone. I miss him so much, Niss," he wept. "Why will it never stop hurting?"

"Because there were none before him and none after him who could replace him," she said. "So when he was lost, you could not forget him. You have remembered, and will remember, him always." She threaded her fingers under his crisp white shirt and pulled out the chain with the small gold cross on it that her husband had worn since the day he returned from Brazil, and that he'd never taken off (glamours notwithstanding)  for a moment since. It warmed and glimmered in her hand. "I am quite sure that Master Cartwright would understand, you know, if you were to tell him. He would not deny a son of ours the name of such a man."

"But would you want the reminder?"

Narcissa Black Malfoy tilted her husband's chin and wiped his eyes gently with her fingers.

"What, of the man that saved your life?" she said quietly. "Who sacrificed his own so that you might live, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy? For that alone, his name shall live through our line forever, even had you not loved him as you did, and do yet."

"I did not... I do not..." He stumbled. She kissed his lips.

"You did," she said firmly. "And you do. And you will not deny it any longer: not to me, nor to yourself. The time for hiding is past, on all fronts."

"I wish you'd met him. Even once."

Niss smiled down at him. "His letters, and your accounts of him, were quite sufficiently entertaining," she said. "I'm not sure I would have survived the actuality."

Lucius laughed a little soggily at that. "I know _he_ wouldn't have," he said. "And I'm absolutely sure that there'd yet be bits of my own exploded head, never mind my other exploded bits, all over the jungle."

She laughed too, softly. He wrapped her up in his arms, threading his hand through her golden hair and pulling her head down to kiss her desperately, even as he began to weep again. After a moment though, he eased away. She wiped his face again, and pulled him close, rubbing his back.

"Ramone," she said. "Ramone Luis Malfoy."

"Ramone Antonio Malfoy," he corrected.

"We will have at least four more after the first," she said "Minimum. Antonio will come, but your two names should go together, as they always did."

"I love you," Lucius said to his wife.

"I love you too," she said, and rubbed his back again, once, before rising to her feet. "Now go."

He wiped his eyes one last time on his crisp white sleeve, and went.

 

* * *

 

**Castelobruxo School**

**September 8, 1970**

" _Nomaj Appreciation?"_ sixteen-year-old Lucius Malfoy repeated dubiously as he examined the course booklet. Arithmancy, one of his two optionals, had been suspended for the term after the professor had had an unexpected (if thankfully non-fatal) encounter on the edge of the grounds with a posse of adolescent howler monkeys. It was not unexpected, Ramone had told him; the position seemed to follow the pattern of the DADA professors back at Hogwarts, though the DADA professors, Lucius thought, did not generally depart under quite such entertaining circumstances... The rainforest might be alarming, but the residents (lethifolds aside) were certainly providing some colourful episodes to share in his letters to Narcissa, and that wasn't even counting the musings of his new room-mate. "Somehow, I do not think that Abraxas would approve."

"Why do you call your father Abraxas?" Ramone asked, diverted from his homework as he sprawled on his bed. "It is not very respectful, heh? My papa, he would have something to say if I were ever to call him Estevan."

"It is a Malfoy tradition.  One that Niss and I intend to amend when we have our own children, I assure you, if only because it will annoy the bloody portraits at the Manor so completely." Lucius turned the page of the booklet and back again. "This entire syllabus seems to revolve around history, literature and music. Is there no emphasis on the knowledge essential to practical social integration?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, at home, those who take Muggle Studies learn such things on how to employ non-magical currency, how to navigate their various transit systems, how to communicate across distances using their different types of devices, the styles of appropriate clothing to wear when out and about in different environments..." He caught Ramone's blank look. "And the cultural differentials strike again?"

"But those things are only common sense!" his room mate protested, sitting up amid his scattered books and rolls of inky parchment. "We Magicals are so few surrounded by so many; how should we avoid learning their ways when we must open our eyes and see them all about as we _walk_ about?"

"Surprisingly easily, if you are that truly determined not to notice them, and are raised to believe that the perpetrators are naturally inferior."

"Mmf." Ramone did not sound impressed. "You will have to forget all _that_ , heh, before I take you home and introduce you to Mama, or she will tell you what you may do with your broomstick from the Nomaj point of view, and I am _not_ speaking of sweeping floors. Truly though, it is an excellent class, and the professor is very good. You will like him, I think, and you will meet him anyway, since he will be guiding you through your extra tutorials in Animagery."

"Antonio Silva," Lucius read, turning pages.

"Yes. And you _will_ call _him_ Father, if you know what is good for you."

"Uh?"

"He is a Catholic priest," Ramone explained, and at the young Englishman's odd look - "A wizard yes, but there are yet a few who choose the path since our faith in God is so much and necessary a part of our lives here, heh?"

"Ah. Wait, isn't there something in the textbook there about not suffering a witch to live? How does he rationalize that little contradiction?"

"On the principle again that in our lands, it is the witches and wizards who allow others their best chances to live? Also, he is rather crushing on the importance of applied context in all manner of things, and has stated that he personally believes that the individual who felt inspired to write that particular passage was a Magical with a hearty dislike of Divination. The list of forbidden subjects is very clear: no cards, dice, numbers management, or anything that might seek to predict the future in order to change it. Also," he added. "He believes that the reference is to Dark Magicals, not those of us who wish to live peaceful and socially productive lives."

"Sounds like a sensible chap. The inspired individual, that is. Though predicting the future in order to change it doesn't seem all that bad an idea from the certain perspective."

"Ah. Well, here is a prophecy for you, then. I predict that if you do not take Nomaj Appreciation, we will both regret it," Ramone said. "Since I am taking it too, and the shared notes and perspectives at examination time can do nothing but benefit both of us."

"I would have to get Abraxas to approve the change, though, and that is not going to happen in this or any life-time, I assure you."

"Talk to Padre Silva," his room-mate advised. "If you are truly interested in the subject, he will find a way to manage it."

Two hours later, Lucius made his way, not without a certain trepidation, through a maze of spiraling passages to the high and sky-lit chambers that served as his tutor's quarters. The door slid, rather than swung open at his knock. He peered in cautiously. There was a long narrow room that served as an office, and a closed door leading back to a second... It was all really quite beautiful, he thought as he took a single step over the threshold and looked around: scrubbed and austere, with spare, simple furniture, but the angular architecture was breathtaking, and the single window, taking up almost all of the left-hand wall, framed a spectacular riot of deep and richly hued foliage and bizarrely exotic flora outside. As he watched, a tiny, hairy arm plunged through, grabbing at a temptingly ripe round fruit that had been hanging in the upper left corner of the window's exterior. Lucius could almost hear the happy chittering as indelicately spat peel and pulp splatted and dripped down the magically reinforced glass.

After a moment, a man entered through the second door, closing it quietly behind him. Lucius tore his attention politely from the window at his assessing look, offering (discreetly) one of his own in return. Of moderate height and slight build, he could have been any age between forty and eighty, and his skin, the boy thought, was the precise shade of Honeyduke's finest chili-spiced chocolate.. His features were clean-shaven: narrow and sharp, and his unfashionably short hair was dark and lustrous as a crow's wing. It shone starkly in the white-lit room, as did his dark eyes, accented by surprisingly delicate winged brows that seemed poised to take flight off of his face. He wore a neat black buttoned robe with a peculiar round white collar, a long black cloth belt with an attached string of the same glowing beads that hung over Ramone's bed post, and a plain black wand holster strapped to the outside of each of his tight black sleeves.

He looked, not too fine a point on it...

Dangerous.

"Luis Malfoy?" the man said. It was not a question. His accent was so thick that it would have rendered his words incomprehensible had they not been so carefully enunciated. There was a near-musical intonation to his voice, stopping just short of a song in a definitively minor key.

"Yes, sir."

" _Boa tarde_." His greeting was not in Spanish, but the far more common national language, Portuguese. "Come. Seat yourself. Your room-mate is Carriera?" Again, it was not a question.

"Yes, sir."

"Poison dart frog. An excellent form, though limited in its ability to act near water." He seated himself at his desk chair and regarded the young man again as he sat awkwardly on the indicated sofa. "May I trust that he has informed you of the reasons why you are here?"

"Yes," Lucius said. "Becoming an Animagus will improve my odds of survival against the lethifolds."

"Mm. And do you, in fact, wish to survive them?"

Despite his determination to retain his neo-adult dignity, Lucius blinked at that. There was much more to the question than the apparent and absurd obvious, he knew, but...

_He is rather crushing on the importance of context in all manner of things._

"I find that I am not particularly inclined to the alternatives," he said cautiously. "On any level."

"Mm. Levels, _sim_. The jungle here has four of them, did you know, each with its own specific beauties and dangers. How is it that your father allowed you to come to Castelobruxo, _Senhor_ Malfoy?"

"I am sorry?"

"You are his only son. Do you really think that a man such as he would not know of the infection that poisons the very blood and body of our land?"

_Ah._

Lucius sat back, crossing one leg over the other and tenting his fingers on his knee as he tossed his hair back and looked the priest over as coolly as he could manage it without actually being rude. It was a fine line - a very fine line - but one he'd been taught to balance as soon as he could stand upright and independently.

"And which infection would that be again? The one inherent in my assignation of a Mudblood as a room-mate" - his use of the epithet was deliberate - "who encourages me to switch my open option to Nomaj Appreciation, or the one where I lose myself to a carnivorous dark shadow who desires to swallow me whole, crushing my voice first and rendering my violated corpse as part of the vanquished, digested and nameless mass within that powers it in its quest for immortality?  I would go with option A myself, as the second describes only the fate that awaits me upon my return, and is one in which that father you just mentioned sees no horror. As he is willing to throw away his name for the cause, he sees no reason that I, as his son, should not desire to follow, as is my duty and yes, my honour, in his footsteps."

The room was very quiet.

"Duty," the priest repeated, sitting back in his chair. The legs scraped slightly as they tilted back off the stone floor. "Honour. An interesting choice of adjectives for a man who translates as bad faith."

"I have come half across the world only to learn, in my first hours here, the true and defining nature of what I left behind me, sir," sixteen-year-old Lucius Malfoy said. "And of that to which I will inevitably return. As I have been assigned a lethifold for a master, I will have no  qualms on embodying the implications of my names - first _and_ last - in its service. As for my father... I do not believe that he does have any idea of the extent of the infection. He is not famed for his interest in that which does not affect him, and as my death would most certainly do that, he would not risk me. That being the case, I assure you, he would be absolutely _delighted_ at the idea of an entire continent rid even of the memory of the existence of Muggles - and as I am expected to act as strategic advisor to the creature that wishes to make that happen in my own land, he would anticipate my using your misfortunes as my inspiration."

"And you are not feeling inspired?"

There was another small silence.

"I find such measures," the young man said in precise, careful accents. "Unacceptable. Imprudent. Dangerous, even. Magicals and Muggles share the same essential biology, though the small differentials there, of course,  make all the difference in determining position in the natural hierarchy - and for the most part, that which affects one may be used to affect the other. As there are always weak-minded blood-traitors among us who cannot, do not, and _will_ not  understand the necessity of overcoming their childish and naive emotional instincts in the name of the Greater Good, the introduction and employment of such tactics that could be used by those traitors who find us unsympathetic to their misplaced ideals might prove... Problematic."

The black eyes traveled over him slowly.

"You are not," Antonio Silva said. "What I had been led to expect. This is good. That means that when you manage the Change, you will not be what _they_ expect." The tilted legs of his chair resettled themselves firmly. "So. Again. Your father's awareness, or lack thereof, of our unpleasant little infestation aside... Why do you think he allowed you to come here?"

"He had to deny me my apprenticeship to an International Dueling Master. I presume he knew there was an equivalent, however untitled, on staff here, and is paying you to provide me with compensating lessons in order to ease my pain."

The priest smiled briefly at that.

"I am not quite that good," he said. "But I am yet better than you. We will amend that, in good time. For now, though... You are here to learn the more important lesson. You are right-handed?"

"Yes."

"Thus we begin." He pushed his chair back a little further. "Come here to me, _Senhor_ Malfoy. Push up your sleeve."

Lucius eyed him, but could see no reason to refuse. He obeyed. The man before him tapped his palm gently with his right-hand wand, and murmured a few words. A curious numbness began to spread from the tips of his fingers to the wrist. Lucius tried to flex his fingers. They didn't move.

"You are now left-handed," the man informed him. "By necessity, and on my word. Your primary hand will remember its patterns and abilities; you will not lose any skills there, but you will not be able to employ them either, for the ten months you are here."

"WHAT?"

"'Let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing,'" the priest quoted. "Or in your projected context, where good and evil will be defined as each other... The reverse? Translated, it means do not let your baser side know of the good you do, lest it betray your secrets and lessen the value and effectiveness of the deeds. In dueling terms... A prudent warrior never goes to battle without an extra weapon. I have found, _Senhor_ Malfoy, upon occasion, that it was not the expected second, but the third, hidden up the unanticipated and unadvertised sleeve, that made the significant difference." He pointed to the sofa. "Sit."

He sat again, even as he protested. "But I can't _write_ with my left hand! I can't do _anything_ with my left hand! What about schoolwork?"

"Motivation is everything, mm? And you will have a great deal of that here. I will tell you now, Castelobruxo is not Hogwarts. Here, the students' very lives - and the lives of everyone around them - depend on what we teach them, so we _do_ teach them, and work them, toward that end. You, my fine young Englishman, will prove no exception to our rule, for all that your sense of duty and honour will carry you home to fight our version of your war on your own soil." He slid his wand back into its holster.  "We _will_ work you here; you _will_ work; you _will_ learn, and there will be nothing that you bring home with you again that you will not be able to use as a weapon against the shadows there, if you employ your mind in the properly creative manner." He rose to his feet and went to a cupboard in the corner, returning with a large wooden crate. It was full of wands. "The wand you wield now will be suitable for your right hand's public and obvious show... Now, let your left hand meet its weapon." He shook his head as the young man stood, and made as if to reach in. " _Nao._ Do not touch them. Hold your hand over the box and offer what you have to give, and the one that hears your voice will come to you."

"Where did these all come from?" Lucius asked as he obeyed. "Did you make them?"

"No. Lethifolds cannot absorb wands. They are magical objects, and are automatically rejected on contact."

That took a moment to process. He looked up. The black eyes looked at him impassively.

"You're saying that all of these wands were left behind when their owners were _eaten_?"

"Their companions," the priest corrected. "We do not own wands here. We partner them. We are, as we are with the Nomaji - as I know Carriera will have explained to you - all one in this battle. And when one of us falls, his or her partner finds its way back here, one way or the other, to the place where our warriors are raised, so that it might choose another to wield it."

"All of the students here inherit their wands from your _dead_?"

"From those who were stolen away, _sim_. We have no real need of wandmakers in Brazil; there are always more that return here than there are warriors to wield them. They exist of course, though their customers are mostly travelers from away. These kind of veterans, though..." He nodded to the box. "Have their own sense of duty and honour, and will not bind themselves to those who will take them away from their homeland."

"But I'm not going to stay either!"

"The wand that chooses you will understand that."

Sincerely hoping that he did not appear quite as gormless and unbalanced as he felt (though sadly, rather doubting it), Lucius turned his attention back to the box, left hand leveled over it, palm down. Silva reached over and turned it firmly, palm up.

"Would you demand that those who have already lost everything release their very memories, my fine young Englishman," he said. "In your service? Or would you approach them humbly with open hand, and offer them your prayers and your gratitude for their sacrifices, and your good will as a brother in the unending battle? These wands are _wounded_ , _Senhor_ Malfoy, and you plan to return them to the front, where all whom they have chosen till this point have inevitably left them alone!  As such, the wand that chooses you must believe that you will be worth the pain that will follow your passing - and you must prove yourself worthy of such graceful consideration."

"You make it sound like they're intelligent!" He paused uncertainly. "Are they?"

"In a way. The wands you carry at home are newborns, designed with the ideal  of only one partner in mind. That makes them extremely limited in their ultimate understanding of the world and its potential, and human nature, and indeed of magic itself. The wands here... Most have, by the time they reach a student of this generation, passed through the hands of at least a dozen others, learning all they have to teach them and most importantly, the implications of our individual, and collective, completely unrelenting pain. They absorb it, they share it... They cannot help but do so, because it never ends, you see?  It is that which absolutely defines everyone born here. The more hands they pass through, the more they grow to understand that, as the same pain defines all, regardless of individuality,  the source must be  external... And once that happens, they become aware. Not quite intelligent as you might describe it... But aware, yes, that there is something beyond them that is affecting both them and the hand that wields them. And so they come to the conclusion that as it does cause pain, the source must be destroyed, and through that determination... The determination to become a part of the war... They become more."

"So what am I supposed to say, exactly?"

"I cannot tell you that.  The words must come from within, from your soul. Destined as you are to live among, and to serve, the very shadows in your particular far-fought war... What do you think you might say that that will prove your ultimate good faith to a proven, dutiful and honourable partner as you attempt to convince it to join you in a battle a half-world away from everything that everyone it has ever loved has died for?"

Lucius closed his eyes.

"There are none before them and none after them who can replace them." His young voice rang out strongly and surely, bright as a clarion bell: the words accented and precise and formal as the accents of any noble or king who had ever been called to stand and fight and live and die for his beloved England. "But I _will_ remember their names, if you will remember mine!"

And the box rattled violently, and there was the hard, stinging slap of wood against flesh, and he curled the fingers of his left hand automatically and opened his eyes to see what lay within. The priest reached out to take that which had offered itself, and examined it silently. His expression was peculiar, to say the least.

"What is it?" Lucius ventured. "I mean... Do you know it?"

"I do." He handed it back. "Keep it well hidden, my fine young Englishman, when you return. If it is noted by the shadows, they will know what you are in an instant.'

"Erhm?"

"The Brazilian wandering spider does not spin webs. It prowls the darkest floor of the jungle, hiding where the light cannot go and seeking its prey among the basest spawn of the land. Its poison makes it among the most dangerous creatures alive, and certainly one of the most feared and reviled. The core of this particular wand is made from a forelimb of one of the species."

"But why would that bother the shadows?"

"Because despite its fearsome appearance, the wandering spider is not naturally inclined to attack. Its aggressiveness is largely a sham - a part of its natural defense system," Silva said bluntly. "And while its natural venom is there, the spider must plot and scheme on how it spends that venom, for it is not unlimited, and, once spent, takes a great deal of time to recover. How do you think that might translate to your so-called master, mm? How might he think _you_ translate, when it comes right down to it, if he were to discover that a wand with such a heart has chosen you as its companion in war? You would either be labeled a coward and poseur, or revealed as a spy - one who seeks, as indicated by your true, God-given name, rather than the bastardized fallen variant, to bring light to the underbelly of hell."

"Ah." Lucius took it back, and a bit boldly, he knew, though only again to cover his unease... "And how do _you_ think I translate now? Now that you have seen what has chosen me?"

"I think that you must be very careful," the priest said. "The floor of the jungle is the roof of hell, and life is the least of what even the most well-intentioned man might lose there." He carried the box back to the closet, and locked it. "God is surely with you, young Malfoy. With all of us. In His infinite wisdom, He has brought you to the one place on earth which can teach you what you need to know to help ensure the salvation of your country. And your country, as is mine, is most certainly in dire need of salvation if this particular spider, named for the land it inhabits, is convinced that the only way to save both is to leave all that it has ever known and place itself in the hand of one assigned to become not a victim of the shadows, but a shadow himself.'

"Wait; you think that what I fight there might affect the war _here_?"

"I would say that your wand believes it to be true. Only God knows for certain, and I would not presume to prophesy. The course of events is His to establish, not ours, and attempts to interfere do not typically, as you say, prove acceptable."

"But if good comes from it..."

"Something... Someone... Must inevitably pay the price," Silva cut him off, not just bluntly, but harshly. "To force change is inflict pain on that which is natural and divinely ordained. Change - and I am not talking on Animagery, though the lesson applies there too - comes through prayer and humility and through learning to bend and remold yourself in God's image of you, not through misplaced pride or by prioritizing yourself and your desires, however benevolent, before Him. You will not forget that it was pride that caused the fall of the one whose name you bear, and that it was that pride that inflicted him on us, mm? Pride, and the presumption that he knew best, and that his personal vision of how things should be was more perfect that God's. And perhaps he does not regret his choices, and is happy with the way things have ended for him... But what of those of us who continue to suffer for his presumption?"

"That's just a story," Lucius said, stung. "It has no basis in fact."

It was, he immediately realized, a mistake.

"Fact," Silva repeated into the awful silence that followed. " _Facts_ , my fine young Englishman, rarely, if ever have anything to do with truth."

"I..."

"Sit."

Lucius Malfoy sat, with a decidedly inelegant thud.  Silva sat opposite. His black eyes looked the young man before him over, up and down, lingering on the pale skin, the elegant, aristocratic cheekbones, the icy, shimmering loosed hair.

"The _fact_ is that there are but a few sightings of lethifolds a year across the world," the priest said. "That _fact_ would seem to indicate that this means that there are only a few lethifolds in existence. But we here in South America, and our brothers and sisters in Central America... We know the _truth_. We have nothing of the facts that your world requires to prove their presence here. To those who come and say 'show us'... We have nothing to show them but our empty hearts. We have nothing to show them but that which cannot be seen - that is: those who are no longer with us. Nothing to see, nothing to hold, nothing to touch...  What kind of proof is that, to those who were never here to see what was here before it was taken from us completely? No proof at all. And so when they leave, we are left alone twice over: over and over and over again, and again with none of the facts you demand, but only with what we know to be true."

Lucius clutched his new wand in his clumsy left fingers. His right hand lay uselessly on his knee.

"You did not come here to learn of religion," the priest continued. "But you have said yourself that it is here, across the world from everything that you have ever known, that you found the truth of what you have left behind. I want you to think about that, _Senhor_ Malfoy. Here, you are nothing. Here, you have nothing. All that is familiar, comforting, proven... All that you know to be familiar _fact_... Is gone. And here you are, with only the one true thing that yet remains when all else that you have ever known has fallen away... Your instinctive knowledge of the existence of the acceptable light, and the correlative existence of its unacceptable opposite. Knowing this one true thing... Does it truly _matter_ whether the story I told you just now is factually accurate? Is proof of its accuracy necessary in your understanding and acceptance of the essential truths that lie within?"

Lucius just tried to move his fingers again.

"It will be difficult," Silva said, watching him. "This is not a method I use to teach everyone. Some find it too much, not because of the difficulty, but because of their pride. Spilled food, clumsy writing, slowed reactions, the inability to perform the simplest of spells till your fingers adjust... They are all small embarrassments that will teach you humility, and offer you the mental and psychological flexibility to accept and embrace the unalterable truth of your identity, whatever that may be, beyond the facts and facades that you will be forced to present - perhaps all of your life - to other people.  And you are of an age where your pride is everything. I know this. Here again, though, you are in a place where you are nothing to anyone, so you have nothing to lose among those who have no long lasting value to you. Perhaps it will make things a little easier?"

And that, as he'd thought it might, hit not _a_ , but _the_ nerve. The pale head lifted, chin jutting arrogantly, blue eyes glittering and framed by the shimmering wave that could only have washed in from a foreign sea.

"I am not _nothing_ ," the young man before him said vehemently. "I _matter._ I am Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, and what I am _matters_."

" _What_ you are matters?" Silva repeated. "Or _who_ you are matters? They are two very different things, my fine young Englishman, and I will not be the last to ask you the question, I assure you. In the world you return to, it will be _the_ question."

Lucius opened his mouth, then closed it.

"My what _is_ my who," he said defiantly, clumsily. "It might not be that way for everyone, but it is for me."

"And did you realize that of yourself before you arrived here? Before the hours that you arrived and your _facts_ fell away, and you were left only facing the defined lie, and the defined truth?"

He said nothing.  Silva sat back.

"Cast me a _lumos_ ," he directed. Lucius gripped the wand firmly, and raised it.

"LUMOS!"

Absolutely nothing happened.  He glared at the wand, quite obviously offended. Silva's lips did not twitch, but had his student been watching, he might have seen a glimmer of amusement there.

"You will have to do better than _that_ ," the young man said to the wand severely. "If we are to work together. Where have you been wandering, exactly, where even the _word_ is unfamiliar?"

"Perhaps it is waiting the remainder of your response to my question?" Silva suggested. "Before it accepts its own turn to respond? That is, do you think you might be better able to manage the necessary induced humility since nothing and no one here matters, in the end?'

"Ramone matters to me," he said defiantly. "As I matter to him now. He is my friend, and I am his."

"Already? And has he invited you to his bed yet?"

"I beg your _pardon_?"

"Do not take it personally," the priest said kindly. "He invites everyone, in the belief that should he persist in his efforts, someone is eventually bound to say yes. He can be, as your saying goes, a bit much?"

"Certain people would say the same of me," the young Englishman said, not a little dryly. "Never mind the implications of the eighteen inch wand."

"Ah. _Sim._  The wand." He held out his hand. Lucius sighed, and shook it out of his right sleeve. Silva flicked expertly.

"LUMOS!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Slowly, slowly, the nova inside the office faded. Lucius sat up, gasping in remembered pain as he blinked his eyes furiously.

"What the..."

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

He reared back, screaming again and very nearly falling off the sofa as an enormously hideous, and quite to his eyes demonic, figure reared up in front of him, legs curved like pincers as it hissed and spat at him.

"What the bloody buggering fuck is _that_ ?" he demanded as he scrambled up in a most undignified manner.  "Your Patronus is a bloody _acromantula_?"

"No," the priest said. "My Patronus, like your wand core, is a Brazilian wandering spider. Rather oversized, yes, in comparison to the actual beast, but then, I too have been accused of having my melodramatic moments. Have you learned to cast a Patronus yet, Malfoy?"

"No." Malfoy settled himself again, pulling the shreds of his tattered dignity about him. "I have tried, but I _have_ only started my sixth year."

"Ninety percent of the students here at Castelobruxo are capable of casting it by the end of their first year."

"First... Oh, come _on_! Pull the other one while you're at it, why don't you!"

"I am quite serious, I assure you. The processed prospect of seven years of near-guaranteed safety as they learn to defend themselves and others provides the necessary happy thoughts, and the prospect of being capable of casting the one spell that drives off lethifolds even as they enfold you provides their incentive. Coffee?"

"I do suppose it would, at that," Lucius admitted. "No, thank you. Not if you are going to be casting _that_ at me before I have a chance to visit the loo, anyway."

Silva smiled, but again, only briefly. "Your particular wand is quite familiar with the concept of light," he said. "But, having determined your motives and incentives, and its duties, is not about to give the shadows the opportunity to discover it. You will have to reassure it, even as you cast the spell, that it is safe to do so."

"And what if I am caught out while I am here, in a situation where light is my best option for defense?"

"Wandless magic." The smile turned to an actual soft chuckle as Lucius' handsome, aristocratic features fell. "Ah. Are we needing a little extra work on that front then?"

"More like all the work. That is my girlfriend's area of expertise rather than mi..." He grabbed the wand suddenly at the rather sudden and vivid associated memory, and slashed down. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

" _Nossa Senhora_!" Silva said, startled, as a magnificent stallion reared up before him, tossing back its icy pale mane.  Lucius laughed in delight as it came to nuzzle at him, prodding at his robes, perhaps, for ethereal carrots... He patted the silvery muzzle clumsily, around the wand. "Let us hope that you are one of the ten percent whose Changed form is not represented by their Patronus. It is beautiful, but hardly subtle - the white charger for the white knight, perhaps?"

"Niss would love it, anyway. She would ride me everywhere." He looked up, distracted. "May I ask what your Animagus form is, sir? Or is it the spider too?"

" _Nao_. It is not. And _nao,_ you may not. I know you are unaccustomed to our traditions, so I will tell you this - that is a question that one usually only asks an established friend."

"Ah." The stallion disappeared abruptly in the face of his obvious embarrassment. "My apologies."

"No need." The small smile returned. "All in good time, when we are a little better acquainted. I would not have not expected it, but I think that my brother would be most disappointed if I were to reject the possibility of reciprocating remembrances after you so graciously promised his partner that you would keep him in your memory. Perhaps I should tell you his name, so that you will have the greater means to keep your word?"

He could almost hear the mental click as his student made the connection between the core of his new wand and the priest's Patronus.

"Your _brother_ owned this wand?"

" _Sim_ ," Antonio Silva said. "His name was Manuel. He was lost fourteen years ago. I prayed that it was not so when we did not hear from him for four months in the first year of those fourteen, but when the wand was returned to us... The traveler said he found it in a small hotel where Manuel had frequently stayed,  under an armoire that had not been moved for a decade. Manuel would have Summoned it, had he been able, had he merely misplaced it in the room, and it would have come when he called. There could only be one reason, then, why it was yet there."

Again, that mental click sounded.

"But you were not sure," Lucius said. "You were not yet sure - could not be sure - until it came to me today."

The deep jeweled foliage outside the great window brushed against the magical glass, and as the late evening sun broke through the dense tangle just for a moment and the magics that banished the darkness throughout Castelobruxo responded and took deeper hold, the room filled was suddenly and briefly, not with shadows, but with richly hued light.

"No," Antonio Silva said finally. "No. This is true. I was not sure."

Lucius Malfoy looked down at his feet.  

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so..." He cut himself off, his shoulders tightening beneath the fall of shimmering pale blond hair.

"But I am not," the priest said quietly. "For now I know... I _know_... That he is with God. It is the not-knowing that is hardest. The hoping. We hold onto it so hard, yes, even when it is what hurts us most? We are all alike in some ways, in those circumstances, no matter our country. We yet demand facts when the truth is more than we can bear."

"Was he a priest like you?" his student ventured. Silva snorted. It was not quite a laugh, but...

" _Nao,_ " he said. " _Nao._ If you wish to know what he was like, my fine young Englishman, you need look no further than his son. Carriera is his complete image, in all ways."

Lucius blinked at him. "Carriera? You're talking about Ramone? Ramone is... You're Ramone's... _What_?"

"Uncle. _Sim_."

"You are telling me that _Ramone's father_ was eaten by _lethifolds_?" He looked, quite frankly, as if he'd been kicked in the gut.

"And his mother too. She was lost a few months after he was born."

"But he said his parents are Nomaji!"

"He was adopted," the priest said. "Privately, by a new family. After Manuel disappeared, his son was delivered to me, his only remaining living relative, by the authorities, and I arranged it.  I was not equipped to care for him, and we may tell the Nomaji of the Magical world, you see, if they have a Magical child in their care, and of that which threatens us all. It is not uncommon at all, when one considers the numbers of Magicals who are orphaned, and is one of the ways we best protect, again, those who cannot protect themselves."

"Does he even _know_?"

"That he was adopted? _Sim_ , of course. We do not lie to the children here. Not on these matters. Those who are stolen deserve all the remembrances they are owed, even if they must be at the orphaned remove."

"He never said... I called him a Muggleborn," Lucius said helplessly. "And I was not polite about it. Why did he not correct me?"

"Because he _is_ a bit much," Silva said matter-of-factly. "And thus does not have many who have ever promised to remember him. He has even fewer now, now that he has Changed. His form truly does afford him quite magnificent protection. Almost as much protection as it affords him jealousy from others, _sim_? Even the fact that his instincts help him avoid water... Lethifolds tend to gather in swamps and marshes. They must rest after they have ingested, and the water buoys and soothes their unaccustomed weight."

"I did apologize," Lucius said, even as he shuddered at the visual. "That is _really_ not who, _or_ what, I want to be."

"Then we will prepare you to fight your wars on all fronts. Not only so that you may help your country, but for your soul's sake. That will be, I think, the much harder task, considering the various temptations you are sure to suffer."

"You are not going to try and convert me, are you?" It was rather dubious. "Only I am fairly sure that my father would approve of that even less than he would approve of me taking Nomaj Appreciation."

The dark priest threw back his head and laughed.

"It is not my job to convert you," he said. "It is God's. I can only be that which I am, and if it is enough of an example to provoke your curiosity, well and good. If it is not, He will be with you anyway. He always is."

"If you say so, sir. I shall have to take your word for that."

"As you shall have to take it again," the priest returned, reaching over and removing the wand deftly from his awkward grip. "When I assure you that all of the pain that you will suffer at my hand this coming year is for your own good, my fine young Englishman. Stand and face me, please."

"Must you really?" Lucius asked rather plaintively as he obliged. "Inflict pain, that is? This is supposed to be my _holiday_!"

" _Sim_. I must. As the book says, 'It is better that he' - or rather you - 'should be bruised from head to foot by me that loves you than you should come to harm through ignorance.'"

"The Bible book?"

" _Nao_. The Jungle Book. Kipling?" he elaborated at the questioning look. " _Nao_? No _Kipling? Truly?_ Magical or not, you have not even the excuse of being American! Nomaj Appreciation, _Senhor_ Malfoy. Mondays, two o' clock. Second floor, west wing, Room 215. Do not be late."

"As I told Ramone, my father will have to sign off on that, sir, and I do not think..."

"Your father has already signed off on you. He is paying me quite handsomely to give you extra dueling lessons, as you surmised, and attendance there will now be part of your curriculum."

"Extra dueling lessons, extra tutorials in Animagery _and_ wandless magic... You are aware that I have other classes, are you not?"

"Welcome to the jungle," the priest said. The smile was not there, but the eyes were dancing now, as brightly as his nephew's ever had. "That which does not kill you - and that, in this context, would be me - will only make you stronger."

"Hurrah," Malfoy said dismally. "Will there be tea, at least?"

"Now?"

"No. In your Nomaj Appreciation classes. Nomaji do drink tea, I know, and my soul, such as it is, will definitely require fortifying with both you and Ramone there to bruise me with your peculiar versions of love."

"How very civilized of you, _Senhor_ Malfoy. You may bring your own if you wish. Far be it from me to force culture on you without the appropriate accompaniment. Now, shall we begin?"

Twenty one years and nearly three months later, Lucius Malfoy settled himself in a high, shadowed corner of the loo on the fourth floor  of St. Mungo's Hospital in London... The hours passed slowly as he sifted and drifted through his memories. Now and again he slept fitfully, waking with a start as the doors opened, peering down anxiously through all eight of his faceted tiny eyes. There were a great number of red heads passing through, he noted, though they were all frustratingly silent. Twice, he watched as Lawrence's new husband - he could not think of him as Ren; it was far too close for his mental comfort to Ramone, never mind the enunciated similarities between Cartwright and Carriera - entered to use the facilities, but he said not a word to anyone else there, just did his necessary, washed his hands, and made his way back through the door.

More hours passed. Lucius spun himself, not a web, but a tiny hammock, and settled in it, swinging idly back and forth. Early in the evening, after a long lull, the door opened and Arthur Weasley came in. He glanced around and pointed his wand at the door, locking it securely. Malfoy watched as he leaned against the sink, running his hand over his rumpled collar, and rubbing his hands over his bewildered, tired eyes. They came away leaving wet smears. He turned and washed his face thoroughly before straightening his collar and squaring his sloped shoulders. As he made his way out, his third son, Percy, entered.

"No word yet," he said stiffly to his father.

"He'll be alright, Perce," Arthur said. "Master Cartwright... Ren..."

He stopped.

"I'm going down to get tea," he said. "Crisps?"

"Dad," Percy said as he turned. Malfoy watched as Arthur turned back.

"Son?"

"How often do lethifolds hunt, d'you know? The books don't say.'

Arthur ran his hand over his collar again.

"I don't know, son," he said finally. "I don't... I don't know."

"D'you reckon Bill knows? He spent most of his first year with the goblins working in South America, before they transferred him over to Egypt."

"I'm afraid... I'm afraid that I'm sure that he does," Arthur said. "He's never talked about that year, Perce."

"He's never talked about anything," Percy said. "Any of the years. Only most of the time, I think now... It's not that he's never talked, is it? It's that nobody's listened. Can you find out for me, Dad? Only... I don't want to ask him, you see? Bill, that is."

"Find out... What?"

"How often lethifolds hunt. On average."

"Yes," Arthur said after a moment. "Yes, Percy. I will find out. I'm going down to get tea now. Did you want those crisps?'

"Yes. The malted vinegar, please."

The door closed. Lucius watched from his corner as Percy, in turn, leaned against the sink and pulled a scribbled napkin out of his pocket. Curious, he jumped over, and down, settling on the boy's shoulder. The napkin was covered in neat sums and numbers. He jumped high again, and watched as the boy folded it carefully and tucked it back in the breast pocket of his robes. The door opened again. A small red-headed girl peered in.

"Anyone else in here?" she said. "Only the girls' is being cleaned, and I really need to..." She gestured vaguely.

"Go on," Percy said. "I'll keep an eye out." The girl went into the stall.

"Perce?" she said from behind the closed door.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like him? Ren, I mean?"

"I don't really know him," Percy said. "What do you think?"

"He's very nice," she said. "I don't reckon Mum thinks so, though. She still thinks he threw her into that giant squid thing on purpose; it's the only thing in the whole duel he got marked down on because the judges counted it as an offensive spell, and he was so careful the rest of the time, so it couldn't have been an accident."

"Why would he have done something like that on purpose? He barely knows her. And you can't go by what Mum thinks anyway; her pin-up's that Gilderoy Lockhart bloke. Load of rubbish, his books, but he's pretty, so..."

"Ren's not pretty." There was the sluff of spinning bog roll. "He's got a really nice arse, though, doesn't he?"

"I've never taken note myself," Percy said, rather dryly. "But I have it on excellent authority - authorities, _all_ the authorities - that that's an accurate assessment."

A giggle sounded.

"Luna likes him," Ginny Weasley said. "She said he's very kind. I wasn't awake when he came and rescued us from the blokes who killed her dad, but she said he popped in and she screamed, and he said 'gotta watch those wrackspurts, kid; they can really throw you off your game.' I always thought she made them up, but maybe they're real, if he knows about them."

"How does that make him kind?"

"It doesn't," she said. The toilet flushed and the door swung open. "But he picked up Mr. Lovegood and put him in his bed when he came back, so he wouldn't be cold in the snow. Luna said when they went back, he was all dry and clean, so he must have used a spell there too, before he came back to Hogwarts with the earrings that fell out of his pocket." She came over and washed her hands, peering at herself in the mirror. "What kind of animal d'you reckon he'd be as an Animagus?"

"No idea. A kneazle, maybe?"

"Uh?"

"All soft and cuddly looking, though not quite ordinary, really fast, incredibly smart, can smell bad blokes a mile off, and they swear up a storm at every opportunity. Oh, and they have those great tails too. I reckon that'd translates to his arse."

Back in his hammock, Lucius snorted with laughter. Ginny Weasley cackled madly.

"But kneazles are magical animals," she said, sobering. "Animagi can't be magical animals."

"If anyone qualifies for the exception there," Percy said, dryly again. "I think he would."

"Maybe he'd be a dragon!" she said excitedly. "His Patronuses are dragons, and ninety percent of Animagi forms imitate the Patronus forms! Ooh, Charlie would _love_ that, he'd ride him _everywhere_!"

They left the loo together... Lucius snorted again, then sat up, his tiny arachnid brow wrinkling.

_She still thinks he threw her into that giant squid thing on purpose; it's the only thing in the whole duel he got marked down on because the judges counted it as an offensive spell, and he was so careful the rest of the time, so it couldn't have been an accident._

He looked toward the door again.

_Interesting. Perhaps someone in the family did know... Has known... After all. It would certainly explain William's ongoing feud with her, if he were aware that she has been aware, and had never informed anyone else in the family._

_But that feud goes back since he was a_ child, _so that could not be the primary agitator..._

_Or could it?_

A very bad feeling began to grow in the pit of Lucius Malfoy's stomach. He transformed swiftly, and magically locked the door.

"Vinny," he called.  A tall (relatively speaking), extremely young house-elf popped in, practically palpitating with joy at his summons.

"Master Lucius!" he squeaked. "Vinny is here! What can Vinny be doing for Master?'

"Go back to the Manor," Lucius directed. "Check the pocket of my dark green winter cloak. There should be a small clear bag there, containing several human hairs. Take them to my potions lab, please, and begin the analysis of the concentrations of mycanthus in the follicles."

Vinny's eyes widened hugely. Lucius shook his head and put his finger to his lips.

"This is very important, Vinny," he said. "Very, _very_ important. Please be careful: precise results are absolutely imperative."

"Yes, Master Lucius," Vinny whispered. He popped out. Lucius unlocked the door even as he transformed back, and bounded back up to his corner again. Another hour passed. He drifted off again. When he woke, the light outside the small window was gone. He stretched all eight of his legs and flexed, bounding down to the sill to peer out. The draft, he thought, was quite appalling, and he shivered violently. He slung a line behind him as he jumped to the faucet of the sink, preparing to make the leap to the warmer corner above the door. Scarcely had he landed on the tap, though, when the door opened again. He glanced up... And sat up at full, again anxiously anticipating, alert. The plain, if pleasant-faced young man in the cargo trousers and white t-shirt walked straight past him, closing the stall door behind him.

The bolt slid shut. Lucius fidgeted anxiously as he waited, fully intending to catch a ride atop that perfectly camouflaging cowlick before its owner returned to the operating room. He spun another line or two to soothe his own agitation, and nearly fell off the sink when the stall door opened again. Cartwright emerged, making his way over and turning the faucet. The water rushed; he scrubbed at his hands. He looked, Lucius thought, absolutely exhausted, and had to stifle the urge to transform right then and there, to scoop him up in his arms and carry him back to his bed at Malfoy Manor... The cargo trousers, he couldn't help but think, were unbecomingly loose, but on the other hand, would make it much easier to slip his own hands inside the waistband of both trousers and pants, to cup that really quite delectable rear, and haul its owner against him again as he bent his head to catch (and if Ren Cartwright couldn't exorcise the taste of cigars and spiced chocolate from his memory, Lucius Malfoy had had quite the equivalent difficulty erasing the taste of sweet treacle tart and double-creamed coffee from his) that desperately seeking, hungry - no, _starving_ \- mouth with his own. In his imagination, the trousers fell puddled to the smaller man's feet, the t-shirt abruptly disappeared, and a warm and extremely naked Cartwright was twisting in his arms, spreading his legs and jerking his hips forward as he rutted hard against  Lucius' own, much bigger and still-fully clothed thigh... Then the Warder's hands were coming up to wind their way into the masses of pale, loosened hair, and he was closing his eyes and throwing his head back to expose his throat, and Lucius was nipping and sucking not-quite-gently even as he turned him about and took him by the wrists and guided his hands to the railing of the footboard. **_If you would, Lawrence_** , he whispered, and there was another of those absolutely _distracting_ husky little moans in response, and the slighter man was spreading his legs again, bracing himself as he lowered his head and curled his white-knuckled fingers around the...

 _Thoughts_ right, _Malfoy.  All else aside, which it is most certainly_ not _, and even if this weren't his bloody wedding night, the specifics of the curse_ are _that specific. Lest you forget, he will not be the one turning and bracing and curling._

"Hullo," the soft, husky, mild voice said. Lucius jerked himself back, raising a fore-limb automatically to wave. He caught himself, of course, but... "Fancy meeting you here," Cartwright continued. Lucius blinked all eight of his eyes in alarm.

_he can't possibly recognize me he can't_

"Don't you have a cupboard to hang out in?" the Warder inquired, looking down at him. "Some other poor abused, closeted kid to bond with? You don't have to follow me about everywhere, you know; I'm all grown up now. _Okay,_ even."

The last word was infused with such a wealth of acidic, sorrowful, purely _weary_ bitterness that Lucius Malfoy fairly recoiled in shock. So shocked was he, in fact, that it took him a full three struggling breaths to process the preceding words.

 _Some..._ other?

_Cupboard?_

Abused?

_Closete..._

Lawrence Cartwright glanced about, hauled out his wand, and cast a quick spell or two. Lucius could actually _feel_ the force of the raw magic slamming down and locking the loo as a fortress.

"Nobody's getting in, nobody's getting out," Cartwright said. He rubbed his eyes, leaning against the sink. "This should not be so hard."

Lucius just gawked up at him... And then, before his startled eyes...

The loo transformed. Or rather... Shrank.  Alarmingly so. It took less than fifteen seconds before the entire room was the size of a closet. A very small, close, dusty

_(Cupboard)_

"I do my best thinking in small spaces," the Warder informed him. "Don't like 'em, but there it is. You try being raised in an effective prison cell for ten years, and just see how many bad habits you have to break after." He slumped down on a suddenly conjured toddler mattress, tugging the single folded sheet out from under his hip and tossing a stray conjured, extremely small sock aside. "Welcome to my world. Or psyche. Whatever. It's all one, really. Question of the ages; what do Harry Potter and Ren Cartwright have in common? Besides the really nifty scars, of course."

_Raised in an effective..._

**_Ten years?_ **

_No. No. This is not happening. I am_ not _hearing what I think I am hearing. Seeing what I think I am seeing. This is not_

_this is not_

_this is_

The room shrank even further as Cartwright continued to talk. Even as Lucius Malfoy sat, dazed and helpless, the small cool part of him that had never retired,  much less died, in the aftermath of Voldemort's war, listened carefully, filing way every word, every detail, every fact, every name, every implication for future analysis and consideration. Single words, phrases, sometimes sentences hurtled themselves at him, all in that mild, slightly husky, ineffably old and weary, sheerly desolate, and worst of all, _worst_ of all - Lucius had to very nearly sit on all eight of his legs to prevent himself from covering his eyes, his ears, his _heart_ there -  horribly, horridly, _resigned_ tone of voice. Then in the midst of all, he heard his own name, and his head cleared a little, and he sat up... The words, phrases, sometimes sentences, names and implications began to slot themselves rationally into place, neatly and methodically: backtracking over each other, shuffling themselves about into coherent, linear and sequenced rational patterns. By the time Cartwright's musings and revelations (and never mind the ones on Riddle and Dumbledore, Malfoy thought, that one on Neil Cartwright's dealings with Bellatrix Lestrange almost did him in; he would, in that instance of horrified, hysterically unbelieving understanding of what Cartwright was saying _there,_ have happily, _happily_ traded in every knut of his fortune for a time turner so that he could witness the event personally) were drawing to a close, his wildly careening emotions were firmly in check: iced over, even, and all that was left was the detached and distant objective. As he watched Cartwright Apparate out, a heavily accented voice sounded in his memory, as close as if its owner had appeared from the After and was sitting opposite him in the very moment.

 _All that is familiar, comforting, proven... All that you know to be familiar_ fact _... Is gone. And here you are, with only the one true thing that yet remains when all else that you have ever known has fallen away... Your instinctive knowledge of the existence of the acceptable light, and the correlative existence of its unacceptable opposite._

"This is _not_ acceptable," Lucius said aloud, inasmuch as he could manage it in his arachnid form anyway. "It is _not acceptable_. I. Do. Not. Find. This. _Acceptable."_ He sprang off the sink, transforming as he did so, and bent, even as he landed lightly on his feet, to retrieve Lawrence Cartwright's abandoned newspaper and to flip rapidly to the sports page.

"Well now, Master Cartwright," Lucius Malfoy murmured, his old instincts kicking in even as he studied the faces before him. Even after all the years, habit was habit, and any word spoken aloud, he knew, was a word that could be overheard and misinterpreted. He was quite sure no one was listening, but all things considered, and considering what was coming next, he was not about to risk his true emotions in the public venue. "Wasn't this a fortuitous little coincidence, and most enlightening too." He turned the page, and turned back again.

**CROESO, CYMRU!**

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**FOR MORE INFORMATION, CONTACT:**

 

**_Ifor Driscoll (Cardiff Turtledragons)_ **

**_Calum King (Anglesey Afancs)_ **

**_Dorrie Carrow (Wrexham Wyverns)_ **

**_Walden MacNair (Newport Nundus)_ **

 

 _Three days to the next full moon, and distracted as they may have been, all of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales know yet that after last month, those who remain in the cabals_ will _be seeking their revenge_ and _the public point. And you drop in my lap, all unbeknownst, the key to that which will bring them down for once and all._

_Oh, Master Cartwright. If ever there were proof that you were born in an effectively different world, here it is. No telephone book needed; any and every child at Hogwarts would have been willing to talk your ear off on these four, however casually you dropped their names. They only represent the fulfillment of the hopes and dreams of half the students there._

He reached into his pocket, extracting his not-phone.

 _Rest easy, my friend. This much solace I can offer you, in thanks for the gift you have given me. Not the world, but_ me.

 _This much..._ This _war.... I can, and will, take care of for you._

The line rang once. A brisk, familiar voice answered.

"Amelia Bones."

"I have names," Lucius Malfoy said. "Yes. No. I have no sources. I never have sources. I have information. Yes. One codicil, you're to keep Cartwright out of it. No, I imagine he would be, but... No. It would not be strategically prudent. We may - no, will - have need of his talents in the future, and not just as a Warder, so we do not want to waste whatever non-related credit we have with him now. Too, he must be able to deceive himself that he may depend on the local constabulary after that fiasco with Moody, and it would not be healthy, either, for the general public to relate to him, particularly as an American, as the singular and prospective solution to its every problem. It is already becoming an issue, and this, at least, and those names considered, is a matter that we locals should be able to handle nicely. I will ensure that he is out of the country on the crucial dates, and in the meantime... Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs is visiting her husband's family in Kent this next week before she too begins her final push on training for the Invitationals. Her particular talents considered, she'll be more than delighted to assist as necessary, I'm sure. Of course. Keep me posted."

He disconnected, and glancing around and gritting his teeth against the incipient nausea, cracked out. Seconds later, he was skidding through the bedroom into the loo, falling to his knees, and  retching violently in the toilet. Narcissa sighed as she came through, conjuring him a glass of pink potion as he rose to his feet, spitting and gagging most indelicately.

"Use the Floo, Luke," she intoned. He rolled his eyes at her, gulping.

"Bleah," he said, shuddering convulsively. "Bleah bleah bleah bleah _bleah_."

"Indeed," she returned. "Should I ask?"

"Oh yes, my heart," he said, and casting a breath-freshening charm, kissed her soundly. "You most definitely, _definitely_ should. No, wait. Allow me. I. Have. _Names_."

Narcissa Black Malfoy's eyes widened.

"Names," she breathed. "No. Lucius... No. You're saying..."

"I have to go. Scouting trip. I'll need more information that I've got; the full moon's only three days away, and the bloody fucking bollocking buggers have been holding try outs all week."

"Try outs?"

He tossed her the paper, Summoning a large crate from the closet, and unpacking the not-quite-ceremonial wizarding battle armour within neatly, piece by piece.  She unfolded the paper to the creased page and stared, looking down at it, and up at him.

"Quidditch?" she said in controlled tones. "The gambling cabals have been operating under the auspices of _Quidditch_?"

"The Junior Feeder Leagues," her husband confirmed. "I intend to rain down hell on them for that one alone."

Narcissa folded the pages precisely.

"Very well," she said. "I will..." She paused. "What will I be doing again?"

"Issuing the call to arms," Lucius said. "Discreetly. Very discreetly. Under no circumstances are Lawrence and Charles to know about this, Niss. They deserve their proper honeymoon after the months they have had, and we will ensure they get it."

"Mm." She considered. "Romania? I can make a call or two and arrange for a portkey tomorrow evening. Perhaps we might surprise them with it during tea?"

"Excellent idea. Clothes, accommodations, etcetera, all ready to go. They are bringing William to St. Dymphna's in the morning, but all things considered, he will likely not be conscious or allowed to receive visitors of any sort again till Monday at the earliest, so they will have fewer qualms on taking advantage of our offer."

"What of Cartwright Senior?"

"We'll give him the option, but only after Lawrence and Charles are safely away." He twisted his hair neatly into a bundle at the nape of his neck and pinned it magically firm. Niss kissed his cheek.

"Try, if at all possible," she said. "While you're out and about tonight, to find out which one of it them it was, exactly, who issued the order on Luna Lovegood? I imagine that Pandora will want to go in on the particular team."

Lucius grinned at her. "Whatever you say, my heart. Your wish, as always, is my command."

"Oh, you," she said. "Do be careful?"

"Always," he promised. She watched as he fastened his wand holsters to his vambraces and slid their occupants into place - the bloodthorn and phoenix feather into the right, and the Spanish oak and Brazilian wandering spider that had lain wrapped in silk for ten long years into the left. Narcissa eyed it warily. For obvious reasons, it and she had never quite enjoyed each other's company.

"Is there any way you can tell it about what has happened in Brazil?" she asked. "That it will understand?"

"I shall have to do a bit of research there." Lucius stuffed anti-nausea potions into his armour at random. "Alright. Off I go, then."

"Tally ho?" she offered. He pinched her rear. She swatted him.

"Pandora," she ordered. "Don't forget!"

He winked at her, gulped a second potion, and gagging, cracked out.


	4. Tuesday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ren and Charlie Weasley-Cartwright's wedding night! Actual plot points, important revelations, and character development included. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is very explicit in parts. Includes m/m sex. DLDR.

**Camden Town**

**London**

**Tuesday Night**

"Two poun' six change from a fiver. 'Ave a nice night, luv!"

"Thanks, Lou-Ellen. You too." The door-chime sounded as the woman's customer tucked the three Flake bars he'd just purchased in his coat pocket, pulled up his hood, and let himself out of the dingy convenience store beside Ahmed's Floristry. Before him, Inverness Road stretched, the thin, wet snow falling and swirling in chilled, intricate patterns around the half-obscured bulbs of the street lights and shop windows.  Cars sped past, splattering his trousers with brown slush, and raucous music sounded from the pub on the corner.  

Ren Weasley-Cartwright turned left and made his way down towards Bolingbroke Court. A month till Christmas, and the first coyly suggestive strings of lights in the shop windows were starting to go up... The snow whirled, spackling his vision with tiny blurred halos of green and red. He blinked as a thick, damp clump of snowflakes caught in his lashes, melting and trailing down his cheek.

"'Ome late, arnchoo?" Another voice greeted him: coyly suggestive as the strings of lights. "Wanna make it a bit later an' come roun' my place for a cuppa?"

"Married," Ren said automatically. As an Auror, he'd had similar conversations more times than he could remember. "Sorry."

"'N this makes a diff'rence?'

"Yes. It does. Quite a bit, actually."

The voice, or rather the girl it belonged to, slouched sullenly against her telephone post. Ren eyed her, performed a quick surface mind scan to reassure himself it wasn't a set-up, and dug in his pocket. Extracting his wallet, he took out a pair of hundred pound notes, wrapped them around two bars of the chocolate and held the bundle out. The girl blinked at him. In the light of the bank opposite, Ren caught the angle of her profile, and realized that the girl was not a girl at all, but a thin, gawky boy of no more than sixteen: pretty in spangled tights and a striped mini, rather salty red rubber boots, and a completely inadequate hooded transparent plastic raincoat over a cheap pink camisole.

"What's 'is then?"

"Chocolate. Good for what ails you."

The smile flashed was uncertain and not terribly healthy looking: the extended hand delicate and red with chill. The boy unwrapped the notes, eyes widening as he processed the numbers.

"Go home," his benefactor advised him. "It's a horrid night to be out if you don't have to be. Now you don't have to be."

"An' you're sure you don' want to come roun' for a cuppa?"

"No. I'm expected, and I really am quite happy there besides. Go on now."

The boy tottered off, red rubber boots squelching. Ren continued on down the block, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. Half a block more, and he turned onto a narrow side-street, trudging past a second bank, a liquor store, a four-story block of student-rate flats, and three more sullen, heavy-lidded houses peering out at him through the scarred and dirty eyes of their windows. The bookshop was dark. The front windows of 259 Bolingbroke Court were softly lit behind drawn, definitely new curtains... From where Ren stood, he could see that the gate, half-off its hinges, had been rehung, and that the few steps past the edge of the sidewalk to the door were tidily cleared of snow and slush.

_Married._

Firmly squashing all hints of further active, conscious thought, he crossed the street quickly. His right-hand wand slid out of his parka sleeve. He tapped the knob. It turned easily. Ren Weasley-Cartwright took a deep breath. Spelling his boots clean, he pushed the door open, stepped over the threshold -

And promptly stopped dead in his tracks.

* * *

"What the buggery _fuck_?" he said blankly. "What happened here?"

"Dash!" Charlie waved a spoon at him as he appeared. Clad in blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt and his grandfather's cardigan, he held a huge pottery bowl in his second hand. It was piled high with what looked like cottage pie. "I thought I heard you coming in; welcome home, mate! What do you think?"

"I think you left the hospital less than an hour ago! How the hell did you get all this done?"

"I didn't." His brand-new husband offered him a fragrant, lamb-scented kiss. "Cousin Augusta and Professor McGonagall came by with Professor Flitwick on their mutual break and spruced the place up as a wedding gift. Left a note _and_ dinner; innit nice? Sorry I went ahead and started without you; I was bloody starving. Here. Try." He scooped up a hearty spoonful and stuffed it in Ren's mouth.

Ren chewed at him in bemusement as he looked around again. The flat he'd left that morning had been  serviceable enough:  clean and neat  if a more than a bit shabby... Now, though, the flat was no longer a flat, but a full-sized house that obviously extended far beyond the square footage allowed by the two combined, purchased apartments. The tatty, stained carpet had been replaced with glowing wood floors, the windows  reshaped and set into huge, high cathedral alcoves (invisible, of course, from the outside of the house), and the furniture - a collection of garden sale and move-out castoffs inherited along with the subletting contract - had been replaced by elegant and comfortable equivalents in deep, quintessentially masculine shades of blue and green.  Too, there were several arched entryways leading off to various other rooms, and a  beautifully shaped spiral staircase in the far right corner of the front room where the  two men were standing... Finally, there was an enormous stone fireplace, complete  with old-fashioned screens, a rack of tools and a discreet brass hod loaded with self-replenishing wood and kindling. Ren could feel the warmth radiating all the way from the front door.

"S' really good, yeah?" Charlie said to him encouragingly of the pie. "Here, hang up your coat there, and I'll get you some.  You must be ready to gnaw the walls; did you stop to eat anything at all today?"

"'Mo'. Nrgh." Ren swallowed hastily. "No. I don't think so. Maybe? It's all a bit of a blur." He dug in his pocket as he unzipped his parka. "Here. Dessert."

"Mm. My favourite.You're such a good mate." Charlie took the Flake bar, stuffed it into the pocket of his sweatpants, kissed him again, and spooned up another overflowing mouthful of mashed-and-accompanying. "C'mon then. Come check out the kitchen. S' totally wicked."

Ren obeyed, bemused.  There was no art on the walls, he saw, but as they passed the fireplace, he caught sight of an item over the mantle. He turned back to look - and blinked back tears as he realized it wasn't a picture at all, but a page of a book, carefully removed from the whole and yet bracketed blue in the margin - the section of the Eliot poem that had held the last clue to the Horntails' last gift. It was neatly displayed not in a standard frame, but in the delicately transfigured, now-intertwined shells of the two wands that had held their ensouled heartstrings.

"That's from Billy," Charlie informed him. "He got up a bit early, before we did, and put it together. I found it upstairs on our bedside table with a note. He must have slipped it there right before we left, and the others didn't touch it when they were fixing things up here. I found it when I went up just now, and put it there. We can move it if you want."

"No. It's perfect." Ren tore his gaze away and followed his new husband into the enormous, state-of-the-art kitchen. "How _did_ they get it all done so fast? The permits for the architectural extension spells alone should have taken weeks!"

"Pretty sure that saving the world qualifies you for a permanent spot at the front of  the queue. All of the queues. Everywhere. Ever. Either that or Madam Longbottom was the one to make the floo calls." Charlie put his bowl on the table and reached up in the cupboards to fetch another. "Nothing's set in stone, mind you; we can change whatever we like and they promised they won't be offended." He nodded to the table, where sat a sheet of parchment. Ren picked it up and scanned it.

"Augusta says here that we've been offered a _house-elf_ as a gift? Really?"

"Apparently so."

"Huh. Vinny," he read. There was a pop, and a tall (relatively speaking) bright-eyed young elf appeared,  veritably vibrating with enthusiasm and excitement. He was clad in a green tea towel and a brown canvas carpenter's apron, sturdy leather boots, and, of all things, a gold hoop in one rakishly tilted ear... He held in his hand a pair of small, magically edged gold shears of the type employed in high-end potions labs, and a pair of miniature dragon-leather gloves were jammed into his apron pockets.

"Vinny is here! Is Master Charles and Master Master-Master-Master-Adept Lawrence needing something?"

"Erhm." Ren gazed, astonished, at the vision before them. Charlie grinned at him over his shoulder. "No, that's okay. We just wanted to introduce ourselves.  As far as forms of address are concerned, Master Ren and Master Charlie are fine. May I ask who sent you to us?" He had a sneaking suspicion he already knew: there was only one person, after all, who called him Lawrence now that Augusta had finally given over there. Sure enough...

"Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa Malfoy!" Vinny beamed. "They is saying congratulations, and best wishes, and that they is looking forward so much to seeing you tomorrow!"

"You don't say. To clarify things, are you still of their official household, or ours? And if it's not too rude to ask... What's with the clothes? Are you a free elf?"

"Who, _Vinny_ ? No, no." He scoffed, or more accurately, _pfft'_ ed. "Vinny is having nothing against free elves; all things being equal, which sadly they rarely is, they is being perfectly entitled to their life choices. They is simply not being Vinny's cup of tea. And these is not being clothes, Master Ren; these is being mandatory safety equipment that Vinny is wearing when he is being sent to work in Master Lucius' potions lab. As for Vinny's current assignment... If you is wishing to accept Vinny's service, Vinny is being very honoured and pleased, but the transfer of affiliation must be done in person. Master Lucius is telling Vinny to tell you that if you is  wishing, we can be doing it tomorrow."

"And how do you feel about the idea?"

The house-elf, surprisingly, didn't faint, burst into tears, or fall into rhapsodies of gratitude.

"Vinny is being very happy at Malfoy Manor," he said matter-of-factly.  "Vinny is growing up there. But Vinny is being a big elf now: eighteen last summer, and Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa and Vinny's father and mother is all agreeing that Vinny is being ready to take care of his own humans." He preened, but modestly and decorously. "They is all thinking that you is needing someone young, that you is being able to train up a little because you is just being married, and you can be learning about what you will be requiring of Vinny as you is setting up your house."

"Makes sense. You got any special skills?" Charlie asked, boosting himself on the counter.

"Vinny can do anything," the young elf said confidently. "Clean, cook, shop, run errands, take care of children, find contacts, make contacts, tend gardens, make potions..."

"Wait, you can _make_ potions? You're not just assigned to clean the lab or prep ingredients?"

"Oh no, Master Ren.  Vinny is doing those things too of course, as they is being called for , but they is being just the beginning of his skill set there. Master Lucius is teaching Vinny to brew since he is being very small; he is saying that Vinny is having a real knack, and that if Vinny is being human, he would be making an excellent Potions Master one day. Vinny is not sure that Vinny would be going quite that far, but one thing is being certain, if you is requiring someone to set and watch your cauldrons for you, Vinny is your elf." He preened again, slightly less modestly this time. Ren's lips twitched.

"And how are you with dragons?" Charlie inquired.

"Vinny is never meeting a dragon, Master Charlie, so Vinny cannot say. There is never being a doxy yet born though, who is not fearing Vinny's name. HAI!" He struck a dramatic pose with the potions shears,  as and just as quickly recovered himself, ears blushing bright red as the two wizards laughed outright. "Excuse Vinny, please. Vinny's father is saying often that Master Lucius should never have given Vinny permission to be seeing Muggle films on his day off, because they is obviously being very bad for his inherent dignity. Vinny will try to keep it under control."

"Quite alright," Ren didn't even try to control his chuckles. "Well, just for the record, we have a third resident. He's in hospital at the moment, and likely will be at least till Christmas, but after that, he'll be moving in. Or rather staying. He's Master Charlie's brother, and my new apprentice. And speaking of which, how did you get past my wards here?"

"Vinny didn't. Vinny is only getting in because Master Ren is calling him first. You is being a very, _very_ good Warder, Master Ren.  Vinny is thinking that there is never being a witch or wizard before who is being able to keep a house-elf out from where he is wishing to go."

"That's probably because there haven't been very many witches or wizards who have realized everything that house-elves can do," the reborn wizard said dryly. "And if they don't ask, you're not obliged to tell them, are you?"

The huge eyes doubled in alarmed size.

"Don't worry," Ren assured him. "Your secrets are as safe with me as mine are with you. I don't have any interest in people knowing what house-elves can do either, or in any other house-elves knowing that _I_ know. Some elves have bad masters, and those elves will be much safer if they don't know certain things about the people that their bad masters consider their enemies."

"Vinny will be quiet," he promised. "Vinny will not tell _anybody._ Not unless Master Ren says it is safe."

"Good. Because right now, I'm telling you... It's not a good idea."

Vinny bobbed his head, his ears flapping vigorously. The little gold hoop glinted. Ren scratched his chin as he regarded it, and him.

"Vinny," he said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course! Master Ren can be asking Vinny anything! That is not meaning that Master Ren is getting an answer he is liking, but as Mistress Niss is saying, asking is always being acceptable, unless it is isn't.  She is being rather strict on matters of the inappropriately personal, Mistress Niss is, and Master Lucius is giving Vinny a list there to help Vinny along. It is being very helpful; house-elves's ideas of what is being acceptable is not being like human ideas, as Vinny is sure Master Ren is knowing, and as Master Lucius understands. He is saying that the jungle is the jungle no matter where you is, and there is always the Law that must be followed for all the peoples, free or not. He is even making the list rhyme for fun, like in the book! Would Master Ren like to hear it?"

"Erhm." Charlie sniggered into his pie, as much at his husband's bemused expression as at Vinny's revelation.  "Yes, definitely, though not just now, thanks. Which brings me back to my question, though I think I have my answer already. Do you like Master and Mistress Malfoy? Are they good to you and the other house-elves?"

Vinny drew himself up immediately and proudly.

"Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa," he said in ringing tones (not quite as ringing as Malfoy's clarion bell, his natural pitch considering, but a fair imitation anyway, Ren thought) - "is the best Master and Mistress _ever_ . They is so good, they is understanding that house-elves is _peoples!_ Not humans, but peoples. They is even telling Vinny that if he is not wanting to be coming here after he is meeting you, they is not making him. They is being very happy to have him always, they is saying, and Master Lucius..." He darted a look around, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial, thrilled whisper. "Master Lucius is even saying that Vinny is being his _friend_!" The tone of the last word was a dramatic pose all on its own.

"Huh. Okay. Well, I just thought I'd check in before tomorrow. Only I've heard a lot of things, yeah?"

"Vinny reckons that there is being a lot of things to be heard," Vinny conceded. "Most of which is being rotting doxy dung. Vinny is recommending that Master Ren do what Mistress Niss is always saying: that is, use his sodding brains to make up his own sodding mind on peoples'  characters based on that which he is noting of their actual sodding behaviour rather than their sodding public reputations. Now, Vinny is having a very important project on the go back at Master Lucius' lab, but can Vinny be getting Master Ren and Master Charlie anything before he leaves?"

"No, we're good," Charlie said after he'd recovered. "Go on. Though you're welcome to come back tomorrow morning around seven to make breakfast. In the meantime, we just wanted to say hello, and to introduce ourselves."

Vinny beamed. "You is so nice, Master Charlie," he said. "And if Vinny may be so bold as to be saying so, we at Malfoy Manor is being very, _very_ happy that you is feeling better. Pancakes, eggs or Raisin Bran?"

" _Raisin Bran_?" Ren said involuntarily, even as Charlie said...

"You are, are you?"

"Yes, Master Ren. Raisin Bran. Master Draco is liking it when he is home, though we is not yet telling him it is Muggle food. Mistress Niss is saying that he would be like telling him that there is no Father Christmas all over again, and there is being none of us at Malfoy Manor who is caring for a repeat of _that_ . Maybe by the time he is graduating from Hogwarts, she is saying.  And yes, Master Charlie." It was very firm. "We is. We is not knowing you, but there is being no one - in the Magical world - _no one_ , no matter if they is being peoples or not  - who is wishing cancer on _anybody_ . It is a nasty, cruel, _vile_ sickness, and if it was being a doxy, Vinny would be squashing it flatter than Master Ren flattened those very, very flat... _things_." He shuddered, not at all dramatically, and popped out. Charlie laughed.

"Bloody adorable," he said. "I think he'll suit just fine." He nodded to the untouched bowl. "Eat."

"Uh?"

"Eat. You're pale as a ghost."

Ren prodded at the contents of the bowl with his spoon, and shoveled in an unenthusiastic bite. Charlie frowned at him as he watched him chew slowly before returning to his poking.

"I really am alright with waiting," the dragon wrangler said. "Even if you're just tired, yeah?"

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

Ren shrugged. Charlie slid off the counter and reached for the kettle.

"I'll make tea," he said. "We can poke around the place later. Loo's upstairs to the left; go scrub off the smell of hospital, why don't you, put on something comfortable, and then you can finish that up along with a hot cuppa."

"I'm fine." Ren shoveled himself up, rolling his eyes at him. "Oh Big and Scary One."

Charlie just grinned at him over his shoulder again and set the filled kettle on the stove.

* * *

 

**Thirty Minutes Later**

"DASH! Where'd you get t... Ah." Charlie Weasley-Cartwright set the tea service on the exquisite pine trunk that had been their battered coffee table and smiled up at his husband as he descended the spiraled stairs.  Ren's cargo trousers were gone, he saw, replaced by a pair of flannel pajama pants and a soft long-sleeved shirt. He smelled, even from the distance, of soap and shaving foam, and though his hair was damp and combed neatly, his cowlick looked considerably refreshed. For whatever reason, Charlie found the sight of his scrubbed bare feet fantastically hot. "There you are. Thought I was going to have to come rescue you from the rubber Ridgebacks. Better?"

"Bit, yeah. Cleaner, anyway. I may or may not have set them to retaliate with inappropriate prejudice against the rubber Vipertooths though. You weren't joking about the Tasmanian Steel-Hides, were you? The two lots can't even share a bathtub without it turning to all-out war; I was lucky to get out with my bits intact." He leaned in for a kiss. Charlie laughed and pulled him into his arms. It only lasted for a few moments, though, before the dragon wrangler left off  his lips and nuzzled into his neck.

"Mm." He inhaled deeply. “You smell _fantastic_."

"Spruce soap," Ren said. "Or fir. Pine, maybe? Something involving trees, anyway." He disengaged and kissed him again. Again, Charlie returned the favour, but again, only to the point.

"I'm not a complete fragile flower, you know?" Ren said, not without humour. "Snogging is fine, really. Good, even."

"After you eat. Sit. Finish your dinner."

"I'm not really hungry, Charlie."

"And that has... What to do with anything, exactly? You _need_ to eat, mate, after the day you've had, and if I have to sound off like the nagging wife, I _will_ do it."

"You don't sound like a nagging wife. You sound like Remus." Ren accepted the bowl though, and curled up on the end of the sofa, tucking his bare feet up as he poked about the pie and silently Vanished the parsnips.

"Sensible bloke, him. I'm looking forward to getting to know him properly." Charlie poured the tea - ginger, with a hint of nutmeg. Ren's lips tilted at him as the fragrant steam rose.

"Custom blend?"

"Mm?"

"The tea. I thought you tasted a bit like nutmeg when you kissed me in the hospital earlier, and you're a ginger, so..."

"Oh. No. Harrods'.  Billy sent me a  box in a care package my first month in Romania the summer I graduated from Hogwarts, and now I keep it around all the time.  Packet in my pocket and everything; I don't know that you've noticed yet this go around, but most of the bagged Wizarding brands in this dimension are complete rubbish, and I don't often have time for the full ritual."

"I don't drink that much of it. Auror blood is a good half coffee." Ren poked at his cottage pie again. Charlie reached across, took the spoon from him, loaded it up, and shoved it in his mouth.  He chewed obediently. When he'd swallowed... "I guess there must be a lot of little differences like that here, yeah?"

"Probably. 'S going to take me a bit to sort them all too; I _have_ only been back a week."

"What's it like? I mean, are you feeling more..." He waved his spoon vaguely. "Integrated?"

"I haven't had a lot of time to think on it," Charlie confessed, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. "Not on the mental level. I've been too busy enjoying being healthy again."

"Yeah. And it hasn't just been three months, has it? From your point of view, it's been more like five years."

Charlie just sipped his tea. Ren ate another spoonful and set the bowl aside, reaching over for his poured mug. His hands shook noticeably.

"It's okay," he said hastily at his husband's concerned look. "I'm okay.  It's just... A full day of that kind of precision work, and I just couldn't stop. One problem led to the next and to the next, and..."

"Shh." Charlie set his mug aside and slid over, taking his Warder's right hand and massaging it gently: the palm, the base of the thumb, the wrists, each finger, working out knot after knot before moving onto the left. Ren watched their hands move together. Once or twice, his new husband tried to catch his eye, but he didn't look up. "How's your back?"

"It's okay. I used muscle relaxing charms there, at least, but my hands were too close to the wands and the magics I was unraveling to risk a bad mix."

"Mm." He slid back to the corner of the sofa... Still avoiding his eyes, Ren blew gently on his retrieved tea.

"You want to talk about it?" his husband asked directly.

"About what? The operation? I told you..."

"No, mate.  Not the operation. The last fifteen years - thirty five, for me, if you count the last twenty here. And the last hundred plus for you. First time we've had to breathe since all this happened - first time we've been alone, really. 'S a good time to say what we never got to say to each other, then."

Ren just sipped his tea. Charlie watched the way he pulled his feet up, tugging the hems of his pajama trousers down as if to cover and hide the only exposed part of his body: his bare feet. The emotive link that they'd shared since the moment they'd emerged together from the flames seemed suddenly and firmly blocked.

"Do you remember the last month before you helped me pass?" he asked.

Ren said nothing.

"I don't," his husband said quietly. "Moments, sure. Sometimes hours. They kind of all blurred. I didn't mark time by moments or hours; I marked it by levels of pain. By the taste of medications, and by the absence or presence of your voice. Whether I could sense the heat of your body next to my bed... The smell of you... That last month all came down to pain, and you. That's all there was left."

Ren put the cup down, burying his face in his arms, now crossed across his raised knees.

"Yeah," he said, muffled. "I remember. It went both ways."

"I want you to know, mate, that I would have lived another hundred years," Charlie said quietly again. "In that kind of pain, to spare you the pain I left you with." He slid over and unfolded the tightened arms. Straightened Ren's limbs gently, then pulled him down and along the length of the sofa so his head was in his lap, and he was stroking the soft brown hair. Ren said nothing, just pressed his face into his t-shirt and cardigan, hiding his face again. "And you... You were willing to live those hundred years without me, rather than see me go on like that. There was just no way for us to win, was there?"

"I wasn't alone with it."

"Yeah. You were." He traced the cowlick with his finger.  "I know that. I, of _all_ people, know that. And I feel like I should be thanking you for letting me go... But at the same time, I wasn't the one who lost his life in the end, was I? I'm just... I'm so, so sorry."

The fire crackled and popped.

"Can we not," Ren said into his cardigan, after another silence.

"Can we not... What?" The fingers trailed through his hair.

"Just... Can we not. We've turned the page."

"We have, but it's not that easy. We're still what our pasts made us. What we made each other. We can't ignore that, or pretend it didn't happen. We're here on this sofa right now because of the pain, not in spite of it. 'What's past is prologue', yeah?"

"Uh?"

"Shakespeare? The Tempest? Here. Up." The wrangler boosted him slightly till he was lying with his head on his solid shoulder.

"Never really had the chance to get to know the bloke. If he didn't have a file over the Aurors' office, he wasn't on my meet-and-greet list. This is a really nice jumper."

"S' very comfy, yeah. Didn't you _ever_ do anything else?"

"What, in terms of work? Sure. Strategic Ops, Hit Wizarding... That was alright; they mostly had me working against Dark creatures. Didn't even mind working nights then, and it gave me a lot to work with in terms of my DADA Mastery besides."

"Was that when you learned all about lethifolds?"

"No. Well, the theory, yeah. Some of it. The finer knowledge there came much later, and it was a collaborative effort besides. A global project, like. Before that... I headed up the DMLE for awhile. They promoted me during a lull, but whenever the tide started rising again, and it always did: Dark Wankers are as sure a thing as death, sin and taxes, they'd send me right back to the field. On consult at first, nominally, but I was the best, right, and no one ever quite processed that just because you're the best at something doesn't mean you actually enjoy it. So it would always come back to "Well, Potter, we've taken note of the fact - again - that you really don't thrive behind a desk, and we want you to thrive; it's good for morale if the public sees you smile and enjoying your life, and if you can't manage that, oh well. We'll just book you in for the night shifts again over at Auror Central, and you can be miserable _and_ productive; how does that sound?"

"All that while _Hermione_ was in charge?"

"Dark Wankers are a chronic problem, yeah? And she would book me into the occasional big Warding project now and again when she saw me wearing down again or when Gin bitched enough about her cold and lonely bed, but when it came right down to it, she _was_ the Minister of Magic, and it was her job to place the most efficient people where they could do the most good. I understood that. I didn't mind bringing them in. I just really resented having to be the one who _did_ them in. That was part of the job too. My job, anyway. The public really sucked it up; they never quite felt as safe unless I was responsible for things from beginning to end."

"Plonkers," Charlie said disparagingly. "What a waste. Anyone can point a wand, but what you can do... I can't believe you put that entire fence up in the space of twelve hours. Billy said that it was the most fucking amazing thing he's ever seen in his life."

"I'd done it before, yeah?"

"By yourself? In twelve hours?"

"'S the difference between being good at what you do and loving what you do. And I had incentive."

"Mm." Charlie stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the trunk before them. "So how _did_ that work back home? With the leths, that is? Did they get to be that much of an issue there?"

"No, not even close, but the writing, or rather math, was definitely on the wall. 2070, we got a new Supreme Mugwump from Venezuela, and she laid the issue on the global table. Pointed out that with almost fifty percent of the world population living in tropical regions by then that no one could lie to themselves on it not being their potential problem, so we'd all best get on finding an answer it before we couldn't." Revived a bit by the distracting particulars, Ren too sat up. He retrieved his tea again, not moving back to his corner, Charlie noted, but swinging around so they were sitting side by side. "It really did become the question of the ages: how do you kill something that can only be killed by accident? I don't remember who it was in the end who came up with the answer: when it's a side-effect of something that isn't actually intended to kill, but once they did, it was in the proverbial laundry basket."

"So it wasn't your idea?" Charlie stretched an arm out on the back of the sofa in silent invitation, behind the other man's back. Ren slid closer, automatically it seemed, and tucked his feet up again as he leaned into the crook of his arm.

"No. I was the one who solved  the issue on how to run the fence, though. It was all theoretical till I worked out how to incorporate the final piece -  bio-runic sequences that would allow the spells to identify the lethifolds as magically animate fabric, rather than living creatures- into the mix. Problem was is that we didn't actually have a lethifold to dissect at that point, right, in order to figure out the biology, and then I thought 'wait, yeah, we do, and one that's fabric yet', and I went and fetched up the invisibility cloak from the current Heir. By the time we were done with it it was pretty much useless, but it went for a good cause, yeah, and after seeing the real thing I wasn't really inclined to let anyone wrap themselves up in it again in any case. A few decades on the memories had dulled, so when I got this version back it didn't really hit me again what I'd been toting around in my satchel till Billy and I went back in, but now? Just... Bleh." He shuddered. Charlie's arm tightened around him sympathetically. The lean-in there at _that_ was definitely conscious.

"You going to get rid of it, then?" he asked. Ren grimaced.

"I don't know. I don't know I can justify keeping it, morally, after all of this. I know it's a family heirloom and all, but never mind the story and glad acceptance of death, it's made _of_ death. We did figure out a few things, yeah on how leths work while we were working on the project and afterwards too, when we had all the bodies to work with, and the major revelation there was that... Well. Past the point of reproductive maturation, leths aren't independent magical beasts anymore; they're purely rendered, magically animated human corpses. Every cell that they regenerate, physical and magical, is formed from the bodies of people that they digest: the physical from the recycled bodies, and the magical from their dissolved and twisted magical cores, because the dark magics around the fuckers ensure that the victims are rendered and digested alive, right? And when they give birth, it's the culmination of all that. Eliminating the very, very last of what was their own as the starter yeast for the next batch, till they in turn mature." He played with the hem of the cardigan a bit as Charlie processed that. "It was never proven, and nobody wanted to know anyway... But there was a theory going around that once a leth had given birth - once it had passed on the last of its own independent mortal nature to its offspring and became nothing more than stolen life - that it didn't just absorb bodies, but souls too."

His husband blanched.

"It was just a theory," Ren hastened to reassure him. "No proof at all. But still. Probably not a good idea to suggest that possibility to anyone right now."

He lapsed back into silence. After a moment, the arm around him squeezed lightly and a freckled hand took the mug away.

"Move up a bit here," Charlie told him. "Trust me."

Again, Ren obliged. Charlie rearranged him till he was lying back in his arms again, holding him securely. He traced a hand over his bicep, his shoulder, through his shirt. Pressed his lips to the soft hair.

"Dash," he said.

"Yeah?"

"No. Why Dash?"

"Uh? You know why, you..." Ren paused. "Right. I guess you don't, at that."

"Tell me."

"I managed the Animagus transformation when I was forty three. Dash was the name of my form. It's changed now, now that I have, but then..."

Charlie's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

"Don't tell me," he said. "A pretty, mincing little hummingbird?"

"Got it in one," Ren confirmed with a grin. Charlie threw back his head and roared. It went on and on, and when he finally collapsed, gasping, Ren couldn't help but laugh himself, just at the sight.... He pushed himself up a bit, and kissed him. There was no hesitation; Charlie just wrapped him up mid-chortle. An inadvertent elbow to the ribs turned to an impromptu wrestling match, that in turn again, degenerated quite quickly...  After a few moments, the wrangler tried to disengage. Ren shook his head.

"No," he said. "Don't. I'm fine, really." He caught his mouth again. It was slower this time... Lying half-pinned beneath him now, Charlie shifted a bit, his eyes closing and his ginger and gold lashes shining in the firelight against the ruddy brown curve of his cheek. Ren hesitated, then firmed his mouth and swung off him.

"Sit up," he ordered. Charlie obliged, eyes quizzical - and sucked in his breath as Ren straddled him again, this time sitting squarely astride his lap.

"Mate..."

"Shh." Ren ran his hands over his shoulders, warm beneath his t-shirt. They kissed again... When they paused for breath, Charlie's brown eyes were heavy and bright, his lips were slightly parted, and his  solid, sturdy hands were running  warmly back and forth over Ren's thighs. Ren could feel his desire radiating through the link, warm and direct and straightforward as the man himself, and intently focused as the eyes fixed on his face now. His stomach lurched. He felt the dragon around his torso shift restlessly. Waiting, and through the link again, there was suddenly the added awareness of a fourth party - Karrash, entwined around Charlie's torso. The distinct, heavy feel of active magic rose, not just filling, but saturating the room and his senses, all aimed toward the one inevitable end.

Ren closed his own eyes, struggling to breathe, acutely aware of his own body, and even more aware of Charlie's - the solid thick shoulders, the ropes of muscle, the flat, hard angles, the sturdy, powerful strength of his hips and thighs, the smell of him, the sound of his soft, aroused breathing... The palms of his hands, his fingertips seemed almost painfully sensitized as they rested on the soft, worn wool of the cardigan snugged around the other man's shoulders. Without moving them away, he curled his fingers inwards till the nails bit into his palms, dizzy to the point of fainting with a sudden rush of pure want that made the moments on the dais with Malfoy fade into nothingness. He began to shake, hard, in long full-bodied tremors. With every shudder, his own arousal grew exponentially.

"Mate? You still with me?"

"Yeah." Again he was struggling to breathe. "D'you... D'you think they'd back off if we asked them to?"

"Don't think so, mate." It was softer - positively gentle. "Our first time, whenever that is... It's part of the magic. Their magic. S'pretty obvious, yeah, that whatever happened in the dome... We're not quite done."

"What?'" Ren opened his eyes at that, startled back to awareness. "But you're healed! The horcrux is gone!"

"Yeah, but they're not, are they? The link... the tattoos... They're not just portraits or after-effects after all. We wouldn't be feeling them like this, as individuals, if that was all there was to them. Whatever gift they're leaving us... That we thought they left us... There's more to it."

"So what's going to happen?"

"I don't know," Charlie said honestly. "I do know, though, that they don't mean us any harm. That whatever happens... It will be born of their love, and their love for us, and ours for each other. And in all of that, there's nothing there that can harm."

Ren sat up and lifted his t-shirt, looking down. A black scaled head twisted to look up at him on a sinuous spiked neck... Eyes, red, orange and gold as flame gleamed demurely beneath. Charlie reached out and ran a hand over the taut, hard planes of his belly, along a half-furled, bat like wing.  The black scaled lids were hooded to bare slits now. Ren's mouth was suddenly dry as he looked down at the fingers now resting against his bare flesh, just above the waistband of his pajama trousers. In the stillness of the room, he thought he saw a shadow move under the white fabric of Charlie's t-shirt... Ringing in his ears were suddenly four heartbeats, not two. The air felt  tight and hot and expectant.

"Charlie." His voice sounded distant even to his own ears.

"Yeah, Dash." The rough, intimate tone was back. The fingers trailed slowly down, tracing the elastic of his pajama trousers. The fire crackled.

"D'you remember... I know you said you hadn't... That after you fell in love with me, you never... But d'you remember what to do? With another bloke?"

There was another pause.

"Yeah," Charlie murmured. "Yeah, mate. I reckon I do, at that." The finger traced its way up again, up his arm, over his shoulder, along the tendon by his ear, and down the length of his jaw. A thumb brushed his lips. They parted automatically. Ren  could almost- no, no almost about it - feel the wings unfurl, and the dragon wrapped around him stretch lazily in anticipation.

"And it doesn't make any difference to them that we're bent?"

"No. When they're not actually in their procreative cycle, all they care is that there's someone to give it and someone to take it.'

Ren's breath caught harshly at that. Charlie waited, one thumb now lightly rubbing the pulse-point under his jaw, his second hand splayed warm and fully over Ren's upper thigh. His fingertips moved in tiny small circles. Already hard as rock, Ren felt his balls tighten and spasm a bit, and his briefs dampen  correspondingly. A low, deep hissing echoed through his mind, and an answering one, from Charlie's. Charlie's second hand moved away from his thigh, up under his rucked t-shirt again till came to rest over his quick-beating heart. He smiled up at him a little crookedly. Beneath his rear, Ren felt him shift: the thick, rigid length of his cock surging and pulsing strongly through the sweatpants.

"How much of this is them," he managed. "And how much is us."

"It's all us, mate," Charlie said. "You, me, this moment, this time, this place... S'all there is, I reckon. And yeah, they're here too, through us, but when it comes down to it they're along for our ride, not the other way around. They can't force it. It has to be _our_ choice, and I told you, didn't I, that I'm taking myself out of the equation there? It's _your_ choice. _Nothing will happen,_ nothing is _going_ to happen, nothing will _ever_ happen, Ren, unless and until _you_ want it to."

It was solid, firm and immovably absolute, and not entirely directed at him either. Ren could actually feel the dragons sulking, _and_ sense the emotional flint in the warm brown eyes through the link as the wrangler stared their souls down. He sat up fully.  Charlie's hands withdrew immediately. He swung off his lap and ran both of his hands through his soft brown hair.

"I think," he said. "I think... I'm a bit scared again, Charlie."

"Of _me_?" It sounded genuinely bemused, and the tension was suddenly gone, and or rather translated to real and bemused mirth, and Ren looked over his own shoulder, startled. The brown eyes crinkling at him were shining and warm, framed by the familiar lopsided grin, round brown cheeks, and riotous ginger and gold curl, all complemented by the blue sweatpants and  white t-shirt, the ancient cardigan with the patches on the elbows and brand new white athletic socks already working a tiny hole at the left toe... The magic was still there, the arousal was still there... But...

Charlie grinned at him whimsically - then crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at him. Ren let out his breath in a whoosh and laughed, suddenly feeling more than a bit ridiculous.

"No. No." He scooted over, back into the crook of the comfortably extended arm again. "I'm just being a bit of a virgin, I guess." He pulled up his own t-shirt again and looked down severely. "Big drama queen. If you two bugger up my entry to the Invitationals, I _will_ deactivate you permanently."

"Never mind you," Charlie said truculently, and prodded at the disgruntled Mola. "They'll bloody well have to deal with _me_. I can't wait to see you go all out, specially after missing you last Saturday."

"Mm. Not to change the subject, but I can't help but feel I'm cheating a bit there, yeah?" Ren confessed. "I mean, a hundred twenty five plus years of experience, never mind the twelve decades of extra spells to work with? Kind of a bit of an unfair advantage."

"No problem. On the subject changing, I mean. We've got all the time you want." He squeezed his shoulders. "Though that being said, I wouldn't go clearing the mantle just yet. You'll have a bit more of an advantage than you might have had if all the South and Central Americans hadn't pulled out, but you're still going to have to work for it."

"The... Uh?"

"At least five out of the top ten contenders in the Invitationals here always, _always_ come from that part of the world. Professional athletes,  DADA experts - the jungle has more to be going on with than leths - duelists and Warders. They all come from either Brazil, Colombia or Venezuela: the three hardest hit countries, and they're all _you_."

His husband stared at him.

"Seriously?" he said. " _Seriously_?"

'Yup." Charlie reached for his tea again, flicked it hot, and sipped. "Mm. You may have twelve decades' worth of spells on them, but they... They have almost a millennia and a half, if you do the back maths to the first numbers, of _incentive_ .   _Creative_ incentive."

Far from looking put off, Ren just looked intrigued, half-turning to look at him. "Will they fight if I ask them to?" he asked.

"Uh?"

"If I send a letter asking them all to re-enter. And to have at it... Would they? I mean, it's not about Warding, is it, and that's how we got rid of the leths. Dueling is a completely different skill set, right?"

"Yeah," Charlie said. "And they're probably hoping you will. They're being polite and all, but you're their pin-up right now, and... What the bloody hell? Oi!  Oh for... Dash... Really? _Now_?"

"I'll just be a sec with it; I just need a sec." Ren scribbled intently on a sheet of parchment by the window, and went to the floo, Summoning his wand. It flew down the stairs into his waiting hand. "There we go." He tapped the grate in an intricate pattern. A disembodied voice sounded pleasantly.

"You have reached the International Floo Network's All-European Calling Center. Please state the city, province, state or territory, country, name and specifics of the individual you are attempting to contact, in that order.

"Amsterdam: Holland," the Warder directed. "Master Gustavus Richards: Head of the International Masteries Board. "

There was a brief flash, then...

"Master-Adept Cartwright?" The Head of the International Masteries Board (IM Warding: Spellcast) looked genuinely startled as his head appeared in the fireplace. "Is everything alright? What can I do for you?"

"Hey, Master Richards. I need to get a message to all of the contenders who withdrew from the Global Invitationals. Do you know any of them?"

"Of course."

"Awesome. Can you give them all copies of this, please?" He held out the parchment. Richards' hand popped out and took it.

"Dear South America, Central America and the Pacific Islands," his head read. "I really  appreciate your lovely gesture, but honestly, the Invitationals just won't be the same without you. I'm therefore asking you, as a personal favour, to reconsider your collective withdrawal. I'm really good at Warding, but I've never had a chance to duel against anyone else on the International level  just for the joy of it, and I think if we're honest with each other, that most of you would say the same. I think it's time to amend that. I promise I won't be upset if any one of you kicks my ass, and I'll be even happier if any of  us manage to get past Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs. They go on about her over here like she's the Second Coming, and while I'm sure she's a perfectly lovely individual, it's really, _really_ annoying. Nundus, pfft. You know how you get rid of a Nundu? You ride in on your broom, cast an expanded impermeable bubble head charm around it, suck out the oxygen from the interior, and watch it suffocate on its own bad breath. Fondest remembrances, Ren Weasley-Cartwright. P.S. I'll be happy to teach you all the modifications to the laundry spell and the adapted Scourgify that I incorporated into the fence. In turn, will you please teach them to everyone who needs to know; I'm pretty sure we got most of the fuckers, but one left is one too many, and the spells can be used on individual leths as well as groups (no Horntails or happy thoughts required). The associated runic/spell warding sequences I incorporated can be worked around the perimeters of any building, vehicle, or village/city border, and I'll be publishing those soon too. If you need an extra pair of wands for any of it, let me know. I am, as always, at your service. RWC.

Across the room, on the sofa, Charlie lay back, limp and howling with laughter. Gustavus Richards' expression was nonplussed, to say the least.

"Impermeable _bubble head charm_?" he repeated.

"Yep. Works just like magic, once you get past the spikes anyway. See you in New York on Christmas Eve?"

"Of course. And thank you. I will deliver the messages.'

"Awesome. Bye now!"

Richards withdrew his head from the floo. Charlie gasped weakly.

"I love you, Dash Weasley-Cartwright," he said. "I love you so bloody much. Get over here. Now."

Ren grinned sheepishly, and came to sit beside him again as he struggled up.

"Sorry," he said. "I just..." He squawked and flailed a little as Charlie's mouth covered his again. After a moment, he relaxed into it, and opened his own mouth. The kiss was strong and firm, the laughter echoing through the link, and then the wrangler turned and cupped his face in both hands, and it went from strong to breathtaking, and the laughter stopped, and Ren was on his back, Charlie lying over _him_ this time with his hands, as they had the first night they'd kissed in front of the entire family, tangled in his hair. The room went airless again, and when the dragons roused, it was with a roar this time, and...

"Will you two knock it _off_ ?" Charlie said, irritated. Ren blinked, startled, as the other man lifted himself slightly and tugged the collar of his own shirt away from his throat, glaring down at his bare chest beneath. 'We are not your bloody _proxies_! Also, whatever happens, it is not happening on this sofa. Arms around my neck," he said to Ren.

"Erhm. What?"

"We're going upstairs. Snogging, shagging, sleep... Whatever you want, but this sofa isn't cutting it. Put your arms around my neck."

Ren obliged. Charlie slid his hands under his rear and flexed, heaving and standing.

"Legs around my waist," he directed.

"Aren't I kind of heavy for this?"

'I wrangle _dragons_ for a living, mate. I think I can manage you, yeah?"

Ren said nothing more, just locked his legs and threw his head back, closing his eyes as his husband carried him, kissing the exposed strong line of his neck and throat, up the gleaming spiral stairs and down the hall to their bedroom.

* * *

 

The master bedroom was not, in fact, a bedroom, but an entire semi-open suite: beautifully appointed with angled, high and raftered ceilings and not one, but two huge fireplaces. The bed was enormous, the head and foot-boards made of the same glowing wood in the furniture downstairs. It looked, Ren thought, near excessively enticing and intimidating both, piled high as it was with soft creamy sheets, warm blankets, thick hand-made quilts, and a small mountain of fluffy pillows... Candles shone and flickered everywhere, and the shadows of the snow fell outside the dimly lit windows.  

Charlie lowered Ren back on the bed till he was on his back, and slid in beside him. He arranged the blankets tidily as Ren tugged his own shirt off, then hooked his thumbs into the waist of his pajama trousers. Even as he began to push them down, Charlie reached and over stilled his hand. Ren looked up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Not unless you want it, mate. Not unless you want _me._  I told  you, no regrets going in or coming out, and I meant it. You have to be sure. And I have to be sure you're sure."

The fire crackled quietly. More snow drifted silently outside the windows.

"I'm as sure as I'm ever going to be," Ren said finally. "It's not about them. I'm nervous, yeah, but I'm going to be at any point. I'm not nervous about you, Charlie. I'm nervous of everything else, but not you. Or me and you. And that's all that matters, I think."

And it was as if the expressing of the words made it true, because he found it _was_ true. Charlie said nothing more,  just pushed the blankets back again and helped him out of the trousers. He guffawed, startled, at the sight of his shorts beneath: black silk and with several pods' worth of frolicking fuzzy gold puffskeins in compromising positions.

"Shut it," his husband said, embarrassed.  "Sirius gave them to me, and it's laundry day besides."

"Uh huh. No offense intended to my sister, but you were obviously married to a woman too long. S'not laundry day till you have to go without." Charlie slipped the shorts off him. Ren  lay back, naked and more than a bit self-consciously, on the pillows... The wrangler, in turn, sat back on his knees and looked him over, eyes trailing over every inch of him from cowlick to toes. Ren shifted self-consciously, flushing all the way down to his hipbones at his near-awed expression.

"I'm not all that," he said, embarrassed again. "Just a bit harder and fitter than most."

"You're perfect," Charlie said quietly. "So bloody beautiful. You take my fucking breath away." Still he did not look away, just shifted, sitting with his knees half-raised and his arms resting loosely over them as he drank in the vision before him.

"We're married now," the vision ventured eventually. "With the papers and everything. You _are_ allowed to do more than look."

"I know."

"Do you want me to help you take your clothes off now? Might move things along a little, yeah?"

"Yeah. It prolly would. And no. Not yet."

"Why not?"

Charlie just offered him that crooked little smile.... Ren shivered a bit,  acutely conscious now, not just of his own nakedness, but of the contrast of that nakedness and his husband's clothed body.

"You really like this," he said. "Don't you."

"Like... What?"

"Being in charge."

"Is that how you're feeling right now, Ren? Like I'm in charge?'

It was soft, but that rough, intimate tone was back, and the use of his name, rather than one of his typical terms of endearment, went straight to Ren's cock. He shifted again, his hand reaching automatically to pull the sheet over himself.

"No. Leave it."

Ren stopped.

"It's not really a case of liking it," Charlie said. "It's just how I am." He reached out and  ran a hand over Ren's pecs,  the backs of his knuckles brushing the dragon wrapped around his chest. "We stopped where we started, really, I reckon. You seventeen, me twenty five... I knew a lot at twenty five.  More'n enough so when I laid eyes on you when you came to the Romania, properly... Without the crowds, or distractions... I could see that you were the type of bloke that wants... no, _needs_... a wrangler."

There was no way that Ren could think of to respond to _that._

"So what do you want to do?" he asked instead.

"Told you before, didn't I? Absolutely nothing you don't, and absolutely everything you do."

"I mean, how would it work."

"What? Me wrangling you?" Finally, Charlie reclined beside him, though he still didn't touch him... He looked positively innocuous, Ren thought, in the sweatpants and t-shirt and the worn cardigan, but the hole in the toe of his sock didn't offer him a sense of security this time. It just made everything...  

_Real._

"Yeah," he said. "I guess."

"You learn to trust me day by day, as I show you moment by moment that I can be trusted." He leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"And it doesn't... Doesn't it bother you that I'm a grouchy old coot in disguise?"

A soft chuckle sounded at that.

"I slept through that part, remember?" Charlie said. "Last I saw you you were only a couple of years older than you are now, and as for the other... You were a grouchy old coot when you were eleven. And fourteen, and seventeen,and twenty five, and thirty... Bit of a theme going on there, yeah?"

"That's just a state of mind, though," Ren persisted.  "The other... _I'm a hundred and forty years old!_  That's _ancient_ ! Like, older than our Dumbledore when he kicked it ancient! We always said he had to predate bloody _God_ , and you're saying that it makes no _difference_ to you? How can it not?"

"Because I didn't see it happen," Charlie said matter-of-factly. "Last time I saw you, you were only a couple years older than you are now so my awareness of your chronological age is purely intellectual. The way I see it, you're not a hundred-forty-year-old coot in a thirty-year-old body, you're a thirty-year-old  bloke with a hundred forty years' worth of memories. Memories that affect how you feel and how you act and what you think and do, yeah, but as for the rest...  I wasn't there to internalize it. Honestly, I'm just as shallow there as anyone; what I see is what I process. And _you_ might have problems with your age but you didn't ask me about that, did you? You asked me if your age bothered _me_ . And how it couldn't bother me, and how I see you, and I've told you. Can _you_ accept _that_?"

The man lying beside him said nothing. Charlie sighed."Get over here," he said. Ren turned about and lay, facing him, his head on his shoulder. Charlie kissed his head.

"This is how it should be," he said. "Not should have been, but should be. Now, in the here-and-now." He ran a strong, sturdy freckled brown hand over the ball of his shoulder. "Given that... D'you have any memories in there of being seventeen, and me being twenty five, at the Reserves?"

"Yeah. A few."

Charlie's voice dropped, rough and intimate again. "Tell me."

Ren moved in a bit, rubbing his scarred cheek against his shoulder.

"You were a bit older," he said after a moment. "I liked that. I loved your self-confidence. Your comfort with your own body. Your burns and scars. You earned them. I just got nailed by flying Dark magic And I liked the way you called me mate, even then. It has a very specific connotation on the Reserves, yeah, and I probably projected there as much as you ever did, at least during those months. In terms of specific memories... You were sitting on the fence, once. End of the day. Sun was just going down. Near the Ridgebacks. And you swung around and faced me, and you just... Your arms were bare, and you were wearing this leather vest and beat up jeans, and boots. And there were four dragons right behind you. Bloody buggering bollocking _dragons_. Full grown ones. And you patted the rail and said "C'mon, mate. Up you get. S'not a sight to be missed, this one.' And I remember thinking, no, it sure as hell isn't. And I came and sat beside you, and I dunno."

"Yeah you do. Tell me."

"I remember thinking that the only thing that would have made the moment more perfect was if you leaned in and snogged me," Ren admitted. "Course, it was probably better that you didn't. I would've fallen off the fence at your feet and got back up, or to my knees at least, and blown you right there and then."

"Sounds about right," his husband said. ''Cept I was thinking I'd bend you over the rail, rip your trousers down and shag you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. The Ridgebacks would've gotten a show of their own, I reckon."

"I still think of you as older than me, though." Ren tucked an arm under his head. "Because you died, but you stayed with me. You always looked the same in my head, but then I never grew up in my head, so it evens out."

"I reckon I'm alright with that," Charlie said judiciously. "Not the you not-growing-up part, but you-thinking-of-me-as-being-older-than-you part, on that psychological level anyway. 'Snot got to do with anything we went through, after all; it's the way we were right from the beginning, not only chronologically, but psychologically. And that seems to be the same here, so it's just something that we have in common now, not part of the past that we're hanging on to."

"So what do you want?" Ren asked again. "Specifically?

"Tonight? Ideally? For you to put yourself in my hands. Moment by moment, and we'll see how it goes. If you don't like something, I reckon we'll both know, and we'll stop and talk it out. And yeah, I reckon we'll know even without the words because of the link, but it's not enough. So before we do anything else, I'd really like you to _tell_ me what _you_ want, mate, not just what you think I want to hear or what you think you have to say because I'd like it."

Ren shifted again, facing him. The hand on his bare hip was warm and solid, the brown eyes looking into his gentle, but firm.

"That'd be okay," he said finally. "You taking charge, I mean. For tonight, anyway. You know what you're doing. I don't. So... Yeah, I reckon it'd be okay. Good, even."

Soft lips brushed his, and the hand on his hip stroked him gently... Ren couldn’t help himself, he lurched into his touch. Charlie took it as the invitation it was, pulling him closer and running his hands all over him... Ren jumped as one of those hands came around to cup and squeeze his rear. Charlie mmed with pleasure. They resettled, Ren astride his lap again, kissing him urgently - and he bucked and cried out as a sturdy, freckled finger slipped suddenly between them, tracing down his shaft, once.

"So nervy, you," his husband scolded him gently. "You were always such a nervy little thing. First day in Romania you were so jumpy it hurt to look at you. I wanted to drag you into the shed and blow you boneless in every way there is. Let's relax you a little, yeah?" Ren just clutched at him as that sturdy, calloused hand, suddenly slick, curved around him and began to pump him in a simple, strong rhythm... His mouth fell open as his head fell back, and a husky little moan escaped him. He lurched up into his hand, rising on his knees and pushing hard into the working fingers, over and over and over.

"Now _that's_ sexy, innit," Charlie murmured, watching his twisted face appreciatively. 'Fuck, will you _look_ at you? You're so... Mm. Tell me when you want to cum, mate. Just tell me when you're ready. You can do that for me, yeah? Sure you can. Not saying you can't 'less it's on my say-so, just a bit of advance notice is all, and maybe a nice 'please, Charlie'  to go with it. I'm a wrangler, yeah, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate nice manners."

"Nggh...” Ren just pressed his forehead to Charlie’s thick shoulder and shoved frantically. “Charlie...”

“Yeah. Right here, mate. Right here. That’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it?’

“Shouldn’t I be doing this for you too?"

“Not this time. This time... Let me take care of you _._ Mm. So, so beautiful. I could watch you like this all night."

“I don’t...” His breath hitched at a particularly deft maneuver. “Oh God. I don’t look anything like you rememb... Ahhh...”

“No,” Charlie conceded, not ceasing his movements. “You don't. But you sound just like I’ve always imagined.”

“Fuuuck,” Ren moaned and threw back his head again, not concerned with grace or delicacy now, but just... "Charlie... Please, Charlie, can I..."

"Good mate. Good. Yeah,' he whispered. "Yeah. _Now,_ Dash. NOW!"

And Ren cried out sharply at the sharp, snapped note of command, his entire body arching in his near- violent pleasure. Charlie caught his mouth as he spent, cock throbbing and jerking in his hand. They kissed hard, tangling tongues and sucking and biting at each other’s mouths as Ren collapsed on his back, gasping.

*

“Bugger me,” the reborn wizard said groggily when he'd caught his breath again. “That was just...”

“Fantastic?” Charlie suggested helpfully as he lolled beside him, grinning, and still fully clothed.  “Brilliant? Wicked, even? “

“Quick,” Ren excused himself. “Sorry. All else aside... It’s been a long, _long_ time.”

“Hundred twenty odd years and still no cure for old age, eh?"

“There’s a cure, and a potion, for everything.  More of a mental long time.” He rolled onto his side with effort, taking the tissue offered him. When he was tidied, Charlie hauled him in.

“Your cock any different now?" he asked curiously.

“Mm?”

“After you changed. Were changed."

“I dunno. I guess? Bit thicker, and a bit longer too, if you straightened it. Never had that little bend before. The real mind-bender is the lack of chest hair.”

“Yeah, you always had a bit of a mat. D’you like it?’

“I do. All of it. I feel safe like this. Ordinary. I’m not ugly, I’m just a nice, ordinary looking bloke. Nothing that stands out but the scar, and even then, most people don’t chalk it up to Dark magic. They just assume I picked it up in a dueling match somehow. Or a ward setting gone wonky or something. Typical work related stuff.”

“Brilliant." Charlie ran a hand over his chest. “Definitely fitter than you look under the clothes. All muscle and biceps and pecs. You could be one of those Muggle mod....”

"Can I suck you now?" Ren asked abruptly.

* * *

 

They rearranged the pillows neatly. Charlie lifted his hips a bit, sliding down his sweatpants, settling back firmly and spreading his bare legs. His thighs were thick and strong, his hips sturdy. His appearance of stockiness was deceptive, Ren noted. There was not a spare ounce of flesh on him, just pure, unabashed muscle everywhere. His eyes widened as he absorbed the full view. It wasn't that his cock was so very long - an inch or so above average, maybe - but the girth looked...

Intimidating. It was easily three times as thick as Ren's own cock, and Ren was in no way unendowed.

"Erhm," he said.  "How..."

"Do as you would be done by?"  his husband suggested. "You're a bloke too, mate. The reciprocal's really not that hard to figure out."

Ren pushed his hair back at that and set his jaw, slipping, not down between his legs, but to his knees beside the bed. Charlie smiled down at him and swung about, settling on the edge. Ren jumped again at the sudden fist in his hair, pulling his head back... The cardigan and shirt were suddenly gone. Ren watched as the image of Karrash slithered over Charlie's back, over his broad, sturdy shoulder, down his arm, past his hand and over the point where they were connected... He jolted, crying out as he felt the second tattoo slithering onto his bare body and over his around his back to entwine with the waiting Mola.

'Wha... Ohhhhh...' he moaned again, closing his eyes tightly. The long not-scar was livid, almost tortured against his flushed cheek. Charlie leaned forward to kiss him, hard.

"Take your time," he said, and traced his mouth with a finger, and the side of his throat, stroking the pulse-point.  "Bit of a lot there to work with, I know. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself on it." He loosened the grip on the soft brown hair slightly, just enough for Ren to bend his head. A soft exhaled breath sounded, escaping Charlie Weasley- Cartwright's lungs as a hot, wet tongue brushed over, then around the head of his hard, pulsing cock.

'Good mate," he whispered. "S'good. Yeah, like that. Ah, Dash..."  Ren didn't answer, just licked warm, firm stripes from the base of his shaft to the tip, cupping his sack gently and fondling it as he did so before settling in to suckle him diligently, as best he could manage it. Looking over his back, Charlie could see the two Horntails coiling around each other, wings unfurling and sinuous bodies entwining. Then the four heartbeats were sounding again, and Ren let out a guttural cry as his back bowed sharply, and Charlie saw that his husband was suddenly slick and glowing with sweat, caught in ecstasy and utterly radiant in the candlelight. He watched him, entranced, holding his own near-painful arousal firmly at bay till his Warder's body relaxed, and he bent his head again.

"So bloody gorgeous," he murmured. "Look at you, kneeling for me." Fingers still entwined in his hair, his free hand ran over Ren's shoulders, his arms. "Mm. You like the way I feel in your mouth, don't you, Dash? Mm. You're gonna like the way I feel in your arse even more.  I can't wait to be inside you. I'm gonna ream you, deep and slow till you don't know up from down. You gonna beg me for it a little, maybe? I'd like to hear that, mate. You got this little husky note now, makes you sound like you just woke up, or maybe got a bit of a sore throat from swallowing my cock. Maybe both. Maybe you'll try that sometime too, yeah? S'nice way to wake up. Maybe I'll wake you up like that tomorrow morning. Would you like that, mate? Waking up with my mouth around your beautiful, beautiful cock, hot and wet and sucking you till you scream?" He trailed his fingers over the flushed, scarred cheek. Pulled his head back a bit, and ran his thumb over Ren's mouth. Ren caught it and sucked it deep, bathing it with his tongue. Charlie's eyes half-lidded as he looked down at him.

"You look bloody good," he said in that rough, intimate whisper. "On your knees, Ren Weasley-Cartwright. 'S'where you belong, innit?"

Ren's mouth slowed and stopped. Through their link, Charlie could feel his sudden uncomfortable tension... He pulled his thumb out from between his stilled lips and raised his chin.

"Too much?" he asked directly. Ren shrugged, then shook his head, not meeting his eyes. Charlie touched his cheek. Again through the link, he felt the other man's discomfort; clearer and more defined now that the wrangler was directly focusing on it, and radiating, not distaste, but Ren's acute, near agonized embarrassment at his own visceral and fiercely aroused  reaction to this new lover's blatant and unapologetically dominant words and behaviour.

"C'mon now," Charlie said gently. "There's nothing to be ashamed of here, Dash. It's okay to want what you want. It _is_ , mate, I promise."

Still Ren said nothing.... Charlie tugged him up, and across to the pillows again, and arranged him astride his lap once more, running his hands ran over him, warming him.... So intense was their connection now that he could feel the other man's reactions as if he were experiencing them himself. A sudden distinct image broke through, and he responded immediately and instinctively. Ren shuddered from top to toe, rising up on his knees and crying out loudly in deep, convulsive pleasure as Charlie hauled his head back by the hair again and leaned forward to sink his teeth hard into the tendon of his mate's neck. Ren lurched forward, clutching at him and seeking out his mouth with mindless desperation, tugging at him and trying to haul him back, his projected emotions nothing now but a blazing choate of magically enhanced need.

"Shh. Shh now. Easy." Charlie caught his wrists and held him. 'What d'you want, Dash? Tell me." Ren just struggled in his arms, using his full and considerable strength to try to turn over on his belly and haul him over his back. Charlie's lips firmed... The wrestling match that ensued was brief and furious, and when it was over, Ren lay on _his_ back, firmly pinned and moaning wildly beneath him. Charlie just caught his chin in his hand and forced his head around.

"Look at me, mate. Focus." Behind the now-obviously draconically induced haze of lust, he saw the light brown eyes, so blown and glazed they were black, struggling to obey, and deliberately slowed his words so that they were out of sync with the thunderous rhythm of the entwined Horntails' heartbeats. "Good. Good mate. That's a good mate. I see you. I see you, Ren. Shh. Ren. Ren. Listen to my voice, Ren. Follow it back. Come on, mate.  Breathe. Breathe. In... Out... Shh. Shh. Shh."

Finally...

"Please, Charlie." It was slurred. "Wan' you so much. Insi' me. Please?"

"I know, mate. I want that too."

"Then why're we stoppin'?"

"We're not. We're just going to mix things up a bit first. "

"Uh?"

"I'm too big," he said clearly. "Too big to take you without being in complete control of myself, Dash, and I'm alright now, but once we get going properly, I won't be. Pretty obvious what they want, right, and how they want it: how they want us, but again, _they_ are not the ones in charge here. They want to come along for the ride, that's fine, but it's going to be on my terms. I'm stating those terms right now. First time, you do me. That way if we lose it, it won't be at your expense."

The hiss of affronted, thwarted shock at that, Charlie thought, might have been frightening had he not been quite so familiar with the incorrigibly melodramatic nature of the breed... He just rolled his internal eyes at them.

_Drama queens._

"You want me to... Really?" Ren was fully aware again, looking at him uncertainly.

"Yes."

"Are you _sure_? I mean...  You're a virgin too, yeah? That way, anyway, in this body?  It's not going to be any easier for you than it is for me; I mean, okay, maybe some, but there are accommodation spells you could use on me, right, that would take care of the physical differentials and difficulties, and..."

"There are, and we'll use them, but it's not just about the physical. I need you to trust me on this, Dash, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"But you don't _like_ it that way!"

"When did you hear me say that I didn't like it? Don't like it? I may not be inclined to take it mentally, but physical sensations are physical sensations, and my prostate and I are well acquainted. Excellent friends, in fact."

"Oh." Ren still looked uncertain, but the haze was returning again. "Only I don't think it's what they have in mind."

"Too bloody bad. They're not in charge here, like I said. Put your hand on me. Anywhere. Doesn't matter."

Ren obeyed, touching his bare thigh... And Charlie reached through the mental  link and _yanked._ Both dragons roared in fury... But Mola was back around his chest again.  There was a sharp, disorienting surge as the mental, sexual dynamic shifted abruptly and dizzyingly - then Ren was suddenly sitting up, his movements sinuous and fluid and his light, hungry brown eyes boring through him. Charlie cast a hasty wandless lube charm, followed by the aforementioned accommodation charm. He felt his arse slicken and soften, and turned to braced himself, back to Ren, on his hands and knees.

"You sure? Like this? S'not very intimate.' The words were token though, as the Warder moved behind him. Wide strong hands positioned him,  anchoring themselves on his sturdy hips.

'We can do intimate later. Right now, there's only one way I want it. Hard, fast, and dee..." He threw back his head and roared, blinding pain searing through him as Ren, without warning, placed himself and rammed forward, all the way, in one long, grinding stroke. Charlie's eyes stung and burned half with sweat and half with tears, but then the accommodation charm took full hold and the pain subsided. Through their link, he saw the image of the two of them together, Ren's head thrown back again, face blank and tight, and his own body, slick and glowing now as Ren's had been when he was kneeling before him rather than behind. For a single long moment, Charlie struggled to resist the overwhelming pull of the magic, but then Ren began to move within him, and the agonizing pain was somehow transmuted entirely to pleasure, and then he was feeling that pleasure not just from his own perspective, but from that of three others as well... It went on and on, building and building, washing over him as a tidal wave or a runic dome's worth of dragon fire; he was lost in it, senseless with it, burning with it, dying with it, over and over and over...

And then the world snapped  in two, and it was if they were all surrounded by fire again, and (s)he was flying, taking flight, h(er) great wings unfurling and Karrash's over them, and they launched themselves up and up and up, higher and higher, roaring together, and the sky was folding around them, and there was - they _were_ \- nothing but wings and sky and the crowning, eternal, hottest heart of blue.

* * *

 

They lay, Ren snugged in Charlie's arms as the wrangler trailed his fingers over his bare back.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked.

A kiss landed on his cowlick. "I reckon I'll be feeling it tomorrow," Charlie said. "But not in any way I'll regret."

"It felt good," Ren ventured after a moment. "I mean... Really... _Really_ good."

A soft chuckle sounded.

"Yeah. It did, didn't it." He shifted a bit. Karrash, lolling contentedly across Ren's back, smirked at him. Charlie scratched the scales between the tattooed eyes affectionately.

"Stop that," Ren said. "You'll get him going again."

"Hate to tell you, but I don't think he's actually stopped. He's just letting us catch our breaths."

The fire crackled.

"So it's got to go both ways?" Ren said. "The one way wasn't enough? With them here, I mean?"

"It's not up to them. It's up to us. If you're not ready for that, they're just going to have to wait."

"It's not that. I'm not... It's just that I hurt you. At first. I know I did. I could feel it. Not.. I mean, not directly, but... I could feel you hurting."

"And you're afraid that I'll hurt you?" Charlie rolled to face him. "Mate, why do you think I insisted you do me first?"

"To take their edge off?"

"Mm. Horntails in rut are bloody buggering maniacs, especially the females, because on the purely biological level the higher their active hormone levels, the higher the likelihood of conception.  They actually have magics that boost mutual arousal there, and the harder it is to conceive, the stronger the magics are, to boost the odds."

"They don't actually think I'm going to get pregnant, do they?" His expression, Charlie thought, was rather priceless, and he didn't even bother to try to stifle his roars of laughter.

"No, no," he said when he'd recovered. "They're quite aware as individual and intelligent beings that we're both blokes, but their magic only identifies us as infertile. They know that too, so  they had to assign one of as the female equivalent before things got started tonight, and after spending all those weeks with you, they obviously decided that you're a more appropriate choice than I am. Not because of any preferred or instinctive sexual dynamic on my, or your part," he hastened to reassure him. "But because of your job."

"Uh?"

"You're a Warder. You saw Mola around her eggs. She's Warder Incarnate at those times. So they've decided that between the two of us you're the more appropriate mother, because you've proven yourself absolutely unparalleled there, and they could see, all else being equal, our genders included, that any future children, however we get them, would be safest with you. It's a compliment, really. _The_ compliment from their point of view, because when it comes right down to it, it's not just the major, but the _only_ criterion they've got."

"So they told their magic, however they do that, that I'm the woman, and it scanned you and saw you as fertile and me not, and so the magic poured everything it had at me, and left you alone?" Ren asked.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Oh. Okay. That makes sense.  Well... Why did you argue with them, then? On who did who first?"

"Because they haven't had a proper shag in decades," Charlie said dryly. "They're called Horntails for a reason, yeah? They may only lay eggs two or three times in their lives, but believe me, they enjoy their regular conjugal benefits. And we are both men, and even if I hadn't had a cock up my arse yet this go around, it just wasn't going to hit me the way it's bound to hit you on the emotional and psychological level, and I told you besides, didn't I, that I want you with me when I make love to you the first time? I reckon it'll still be a bit crazy, but now that they've got their edges off, like you said, they might just consent to go shag in the metaphorical corner rather than inside our heads when we do oblige them. Or at least on the far side of the bed. And there's no getting around it, I am big, and we're not dragons, and there's no way in hell I'm taking you the way dragons think it should be done. Even with the accommodation spells, there wouldn't have just been pain there, there would've be damage. Serious damage, even, and whether we can heal you up or no, that is not, and never will be, my kink."

"So it would have been worse if you'd let them have their way? Size differentials aside? That. Erhm. The intensity we had just now would have been more so, because their magic wouldn't have been confused and put off by who was who?"

"It was a possibility. And not an acceptable one." Charlie stroked his hair. "Pretty sure it'll be fine now, though. I've got them where I want them, and now it's all down to what you want, and how you want it."

The link flared at that, sharply, and was just as quickly clamped. Charlie propped himself on his elbow.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he said. "Something you want to tell me?'

"No."

"Let me put it another way." He turned Ren's chin firmly. "Is there something I need to know?"

"I don't...." Ren hesitated. "No."

"Then why are you Occluding? If you've got nothing to hide from me on the subject, mate, there's no reason to block me out. You don't want to let me in, that's fine, but let's get one thing straight, right now. I'm not going in, to you, that is, until I'm sure... _Sure..._ That you're okay with it. And right now, I'm not convinced."

He removed his fingers, but remained propped on his elbow. Ren didn't turn his head away, but he avoided his gaze. Charlie waited, leaving his own side of the link wide open, projecting calm reassurance and love as best he could. Finally, finally, the shields lowered...Through the link, he felt, again, from the other man, that deep sense of  yearning, and inarticulate, frustrated emotion: embarrassment and irritation, not at his own desires, but at his own acute reluctance  - inability, really - to express himself. He lowered his mouth, tilting his head slightly so he could suck and nip softly at his lips and cheeks... Ren's breath hitched, hard.

"Just tell me," Charlie murmured. "There's something you want to tell me, isn't there? No, something you want _from_ me. Is that it?"

"If you can tell that, you can tell what it is, yeah?"

"Not really, no. I mean, I could probably make a pretty good guess, but..." Ren felt his lips turn up as he nuzzled his neck. "Little tip for you on wrangling your wrangler, mate. I don't just appreciate nice manners. They kind of turn me on, yeah? So if you apply them properly, in the proper context... I reckon you're pretty much guaranteed to get _exactly_ what you ask for."

Ren just tilted his head to the side a little more. The hot, damp mouth trailed down, down... The candles flickered. His breathing grew ragged and loud. he bucked violently and gasped as Charlie sucked at his nipples, suddenly and hard. The inarticulate sense of yearning grew deepened, matched only by the overwhelming, roiling sense of frustration.

"I like it," Ren blurted. "When you... When you..."

The lips stilled. He moaned again, pushing up desperately against him. Charlie could almost see him twisting and fisting his mental sheets as he struggled. He sent a warm flood of tender amusement and love flowing back.

"When I..." he prompted.

"Charlie, _please!_ You _know_ what! Can't you just... Do it?"

"I don't just appreciate nice manners, mate. I reckon I know how to employ them too. What's the phrase again... Oh, I remember! After you."

"I like it when you tell me what you're going to do to me," Ren blurted, agonized. "I like it when you talk, I don't like talking,  but I like it when _you_ talk; _please_ , Charlie!"

Ren rolled over and away burying his face in his embarrassment. A firm warm hand rubbed his back. Slowly, slowly, the emotions coursing through the link calmed a little.

"Still that seventeen year old kid at heart," Charlie murmured. "I reckon it's how I knew it was really you, yeah, never mind the new look.  The face has changed, but that kid's still in there, yeah? The one who came the Reserves: the one who couldn't take his eyes off my arse in my leathers, or my hands working a spell, or my mouth the rest of the time... Nothing the Room can do to chase _him_ off, because you want what I want, don't you, mate, and you knew I'd want to see him again. That I'd want to see you again, because when it comes right down to it... That kid was always mine. Always was, always has been, always will be. And now it's official, innit? He's even got a name now, posted for the whole world to read and acknowledge. Lawrence Domitian Weasley-Cartwright, husband of Charles Septimus Weasley-Cartwright. Mine, mine, mine, mine, _mine_."

The  jolt of pure, bemusingly shy, and radiantly boyish pleasure he felt at that simultaneously broke Charlie's heart and took his breath away... He rolled Ren over and moved deliberately and heavily to lie over him as he hooked his elbows under his arms and buried his hands in his hair, holding his head still and firmly as he took his mouth hard, plundering it with his tongue. Under him, Ren practically melted into the sheets.

"We'll get there," the wrangler promised, when he pulled away for necessary oxygen. "We're going to go back to the Reserves, to where we started, _really_ started, and fulfill every single fantasy either of us ever had about each other those months we fell in love with each other.'

"Even the one where we shag on the back of a dragon?"

" _Especially_ the one where we shag on the back of a dragon. Dunno that the Horntails would go for it, never mind all those spikes, but the Tasmanian Steel-Hides?  Sweet a ride as you could ever imagine.  Didn't exist on our world, but then... Everything's possible here." Their mouths met again. There was only a minute's respite however, before the link started up again.

"I'm sorry, I just... I want to, but..."

“Stop _thinking_ ,” Charlie said firmly. “That's my job. Here.” He reached over and grabbed his wand, extinguishing all the candles. It was easier, Ren thought, with just the firelight, and they rolled about on the bed, and soon- very soon – it was feeling like home... After an eternal sweet interlude of hands and mouths, of  hot and wet, of widened eyes and surprised flinching followed by _completely_ unexpected, crashing waves  of pleasure, Ren threw back his head and gasped as he felt the lubricant and accommodation spells take hold. He moaned violently as Charlie settled between his legs, arranging them over his broad, sturdy shoulders as he lay over him, propping himself on one hand as  he reached between them with the other and placed himself.

“Ready, mate?” he said softly.

“Nrgh,” Ren said. “Yes. Please,” and Charlie half closed his eyes and...

“ _Shit_." It was decidedly strangled. "Oh my _God_ , Charlie, oh...”

“Yeah,” Charlie whispered. “Oh, mate...” and taking a deep breath,  pressed again. "Christ, so tight. Ahhh...." he hissed. Ren wound his arms around his neck, scar livid against his flushed cheeks, eyes wide and startled and not-quite- pained as he looked up at him, unable even to moan at the sensations. "Gorgeous. Just... gorgeous. You're amazing, Dash. Here, move a little for me, yeah? Push back for me,  just a little now. Can you do that for your Charlie? Yeah, you can. Sure you can. Don't worry, it'll feel good soon. Little more now. Look at you. I'm inside you, mate. Inside you. We're one. Always. Feel me inside you, filling you, taking you. You're mine, Ren. My Ren. My Dash. My mate. My pretty little mate." His voice grew tighter and rougher, richer... Slowly, the pain faded. Ren began rock his hips, tentatively at first, then harder and harder, and soon he was twisting and shoving up to meet him, stroke for slick, hot smooth stroke.. A sheen of sweat broke out over him, his eyes clenched tight, and he could do nothing but gasp, arms coming up to wrap tightly around the thick chest and shoulders as Charlie wrapped him up in turn, face buried in his hair, and then, _then_ , in the back of his mind, there was fire and glory and triumph and _yes, yes, yes, yes_.

“There are dragons in my head,” he said, half-laughing, half-strangled again. “Charlie... There are _dragons_ in my head! _Singing_!"

Charlie said nothing, lost in the magic as he threw his head back, bracing himself on his sturdy hands and slinging himself forward deeply and smoothly. Ren wrapped his legs around his solid,sturdy waist clenching his eyes again. The singing was building, and building.

**< Harry?> **

_ <oh for... not _ now, _Gin! > _

A laugh sounded.

 **< I have to go>** Gin's voice said. < **For good now.**   **It’s time. Be happy, my Harry.  Live well... Both of you. I love >**

"Christ," Charlie gritted. "Oh Christ. I'm gonna cum, mate. I'm gonna cum inside you. Ren, Ren...Cum with me, cu...   AHHHHH!" The roar filled Ren's ears: three distinct voices and his own joining them, four heartbeats slamming as one, rising, flying, spiralling back into the endless hot blue...

And for the second time in three days, the world exploded in dragon fire.

* * *

 

They lay, bodies slick with sweat and exhaustion, and their hearts slowing and untangling as they returned to their singular steady paces. The flames withdrew slowly. When all was still and quiet again, Ren began to weep harshly, stunned. Charlie wrapped him up, unabashed in his own emotion.

"Did we... Are they..."

"Gone On," Charlie confirmed, wiping his round cheeks. "Bugger me, that was just..." He jumped as Ren caught his wrist. "What..." He blinked to clear his eyes. Around his wrist, spiraling past his elbow up to his shoulder, was a close, encircling strand of what looked like  finest black-scaled wire, flickering crimson and gold and orange and blue. Ren showed him his own, matching, right arm.

"What does it mean, d'you reckon?" he asked.

"That we really are married now. These are heartstrings, mate."

" _Actual_ heartstrings?"

"Yeah." Charlie  touched his.  Shining, warm flames rose and wrapped around his fingers.  "I reckon they didn't burn out after all, just went straight from the wands into us, embodied in the tattoos maybe, and waiting for this moment to make the final leap On."

Ren reached out and flattened his palm against his husband's. The flames rose too from his wrist. Slowly, slowly, they faded, and the heartstrings along with them, till all that was left on both parts was smooth unmarked flesh.

"Where'd they go?"

"Dunno. Wherever it is dragon souls go in the After, I s'pose." Charlie turned him about. "Huh."

"What?"

"The tat's still there. But I think it _is_ a tat now. A normal one.'

"Yeah? Here, let me..."

Charlie, too, turned. The tiny image of Karrash, hand-sized, perhaps, yawned up at Ren, stuffed his spiked nose under his wing and went back to sleep. A soft, not terribly delicate answering snore sounded from Ren's own back.

"Can we still..." Ren reached out mentally, tentatively, fumblingly, along their link. No images or distinct emotions returned, but a solid, comforting steady sense of _there_ ness. He closed his eyes and placed his hand over his own heart. A strong double beat, not physical, but as the faint, but distinct echo of one note harmonizing behind the other, pulsed in a perfectly complementary rhythm that he knew that no healer would ever be able to detect. He took Charlie's hand and placed it over the wrangler's own heart, covering it with his own.

"Will it have any other effects, d'you think?" he asked. "I can still feel you, but not with pictures or emotions."

"We've got words to work with," Charlie pointed out. "In terms of communicating. They didn't. The other's not really necessary, yeah?"

"I'm not great at talking," his new husband said dubiously. "Well, about Warding, yeah, I can go on about that till the cows come home, but discussing my feelings is not my area of expertise."

"Lucky for us it's mine, yeah?"

"I suppose." Ren's shoulders tightened a little at that, and he sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. "Never mind expressing what I like when we're like this, I'm still a bit messed up, Charlie. No, a lot. Never mind the last hundred years, there's a lot I never told you about my life before we properly met. I mean, you know the basics, but... There are details. Stuff only my Mind Healer ever knew, and that was only because she could go into my head and see it."

"I figured. And there's no rush, mate. I know you'll tell me when you're ready."

"And if I never am?"

"Then you never are. I'm fine with either. Though, I don't think 'never' is a word that applies to our particular relationship."

Ren ran a hand over his hair.

"Just... Don't push, alright?" he said. "I don't react well to being pushed. At all. Just ask Sirius."

"I don't push. I wrangle."

"You know what I mean."

"I reckon I do, at that." Charlie leaned in and kissed him. "I won't push," he promised, and suddenly, cocking his head... "Dash?"

"Mm?"

"Question of the ages. You never told me; in revisited Animagical terms, what _do_ you get when you cross a world-class Auror-slash-Combat Dueling-slash DADA expert forced to work his entire life in, and with, the Dark, and a Master-Adept in Warding with a penchant for wandering dimensions?"

"An answer that may make you entirely sorry you asked?"

"Ha ha. Hand me my wand there, would you?" He took the offered instrument and slashed swiftly. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

White light flared. Ren sighed as his husband gawked at the vision before him, half in fascinated delight, half in absolute revulsion.

"And now you know. I'm sorry."

"I do, and there's no need to apologize, but I'm not gonna lie to you, mate. I _am_  almost entirely sorry I asked."

"Yeah. I get that. I still have to be careful when I'm passing a mirror, or never mind everyone else, I scare the piss out of myself." The Patronus crept over, scuttled around the bed and up over the foot-board, jumping down to poke at his foot under the blankets. Ren poked it back. It hissed at him and meandered off to investigate the underside of the night table. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't cast it again until after we get Riddle, not unless you absolutely have to. Only, it might help, you know? And well. He probably wouldn't be expecting it."

"Don't know how he could," Charlie agreed. "Far as I know, he's never been to South America." He set his wand aside and turned to offer him his full attention. "Show me."

" _Now_?"

"Mm."

Ren shrugged, and blurred.  Charlie held out his hand. The creature before him, fully a foot and a half across (excluding legs) scuttled over, rearing up and waving at him in a most disturbing manner... Charlie shuddered, reaching out gingerly to stroke the hideous head with a single fingertip. The Great UnNamed nuzzled him affectionately. He shuddered again.

"Christ. Don't take this the wrong way, mate; you know I love you, but you're creepy as fuck like this. Hagrid would absolutely _adore_ you."

The Great UnNamed reared again, hissed at him, then blurred again. Ren, human once more, lay back comfortably.

"It might help, actually," he said. "Once the specifics are made known, in terms of cementing my reputation as a not-Dark Wanker. We aren't naturally aggressive, after all; we come across as scary, but we only attack as necessary toward the defensive end. Sweet as light, really, and alright, we're a bit poisonous-"

Charlie snorted with laughter.

"But we have to ration it. The natural chronic vitriol just isn't there."

"Brilliant. I'm happy to hear it. No webs in the house, now."

"Brazilian wandering spiders don't spin webs. We're assigned by St. Michael the Archangel to wander the floor of the jungle, a.k.a the roof of Hell, where no light goes, where prowl the lowest of the low, and where every predator who escapes through the outer reaches of Below is fair game for lunch."

"That the story over there, is it? You're great hideous venom-spitting multi-eyed hairy angels in disguise?"

"More like angelic minions, but... Yeah." Ren shifted again, and blinked all eight of his eyes at him innocently before shifting back. "Bit bigger than the standard version, mind you - we're generally only five or six inches across, legs included - but that's not a problem, right? Probably just reflects again that people see me as larger than life, _and_ that I've always known that you like the big scary ones best."

"Mm. Just remember to warn poor Ronnie in advance. Mind you, I reckon that Ginny - Niamh," Charlie corrected himself. "Is going to want to do nothing but cuddle you. And Fred and George will encourage her on the principle that if she hugs you hard enough, she'll squeeze out poison for them to collect and use  in their experiments."

“Dunno.” Despite his distracted agitation, a wave of fatigue, so strong it was dizzying, fell over Ren at that.... He fell back abruptly. "Don't take this the wrong way; but as we're both blokes...  It's okay if we roll over and go to sleep now, right?"

Charlie laughed and settled beside him, pulling the sheets and blankets up around them. The fires in the double hearths glowed softly.

"Bloody adorable," he said fondly. Tenderly, even.  "Yeah. It is. C'mere, mate. Cuddle up, that's it."  Ren rolled up against him, into his arms. His husband hugged him hard, then firmly rearranged him, snugging up against his back and throwing an arm over him.  Ren tilted his head back...  A thumb traced his lips.

"Regrets?" the wrangler asked.

"No," the Warder said around a huge yawn. "It was perfect. You’re perfect."

"Mm. I reckon I am a bit, at that, aren't I? No transforming in your sleep, now. You've got great legs, but I'm pretty sure  there was absolutely nothing in the fairy tale or the vows about having to kiss a great hairy neo-angelic minion of God."

"You got it. No Hairy here: just Ren."

Charlie Weasley-Cartwright snorted with soft laughter, closed his eyes and fell soundly asleep.


	5. Wednesday Morning (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More m/m lemons. DLDR!
> 
> Vocab list-All words are Brazilian Portuguese.
> 
> Sim - yes  
> Adeus - Goodbye (to God)  
> Senhor- Mr.  
> Bom dia - good morning

**Wednesday, November 26, 1991**

**7.00 AM**

 

The morning after the night before dawned right on schedule, and at 7 a.m precisely, the door to the master bed-suite of 259 Bolingbroke Court, London, swung soundlessly open. A young house-elf, clad for the day's labours in a crisp, bright red tea towel, matching high-top trainers, a red bandana tied pirate-style, and a gold ear-cuff in the shape of a tiny, smoking and ruby-eyed dragon, slipped through, directing a hovering trolley over to the larger fire-place.

A quick inspection revealed that the coals of the fire itself had cooled to the point where they required active encouragement. A quick quiet snap of the fingers relit them. The elf snapped again, and a small breakfast table appeared, along with two comfortable chairs. Humming under his breath, he began to lay out the tea service... No sooner had the warmed plates and the sterling silver coffee carafe hit the linen table-cloth, though, than the enormous pile of blankets, quilts, sheets and pillows on the bed opposite exploded, revealing an extremely naked and tousle-haired Charlie Weasley-Cartwright. The dragon-wrangler  yawned, scratched, blinked, and squinted.

"Vinny?"

"Master Charlie!" The young house-elf waved at him. "Happy Wednesday! You is looking very bleary this morning; can Vinny be offering you coffee to be helping you along there?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Three lumps, please, enough cream to drown 'em, fill it to the brim, and send it  over with the spoon. No, don't stir it; I like to do that myself. Mm. Are those home-made _crumpets_?"

"They is." The elf prepped a huge mug swiftly. "With Master Charlie's favourite: blueberry honey butter!" He sent the coffee spinning over. "Is you sleeping well?"

"Very well, thank you." Charlie set the coffee on the night table, patted the blankets, then lifted them and peeked under. "I seem to have misplaced my husband, though. Have you seen him? Perky hair, pretty eyes, intriguing scar, fantastic arse..."

"Master Ren is being gone for a run, Master Charlie. He is waking up early, and is leaving a note for Vinny asking him to be letting you know that he is being back...." The elf cocked his be-jeweled ear as the door below opened, then closed. "Now."

"A _run_? It's the end of bloody _November_! There's _snow_ out there!"

"No rest for the wicked." Ren appeared, red-cheeked and chilled, catching the coffee spinning his way deftly in one hand, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice in the other, and slurping from both in turn. "Or for those now in official training for their Grandmastery. The snow just provides resistance. Morning, Vinny! Nice shoes!"

"These is not being shoes, Master Ren," Vinny said reprovingly. "Master Lucius is saying that all peoples is having the inalienable right to warm feets, and that feet-warmers in shoe-shapes is merely being the fashion now. And as he is being the Head of House Malfoy and by very definition the _glass_ of fashion, never mind the mould of form, Vinny imagines that he is knowing what he is talking about."

"Uh huh." Ren slurped his coffee again as Charlie sputtered with laughter. "And the not-hat?"

"It is being a hygienic necessity when cooking. Nobody is liking hair in their food, is they?"

"No," the Warder agreed, refraining from obvious comment. "They is not. Well, it's a good look for you anyway, so feel free to adopt whatever terms and conditions that Master Lucius has assigned you on the subjects while working for us." He mm'd as Charlie came over to offer him a kiss. "Sorry. I stink."

"You do," his new husband agreed. "What's the weather like out there?"

"November. London. That's all there is to say, really."

"No. It is not." His husband took the mug and the glass firmly from him and set them aside. "Thanks, Vinny.  Everything looks brilliant; now set everything to warm, will you, and then you can take a breather till we call you again. Feel free to raid the bookshelves at whim."

"Thank you, Master Charlie!" Vinny beamed at him, and cracked out. Thirty seconds later, Ren's clothes, too, were disposed of, and the Warder found himself propelled firmly into the steaming shower and shoved face-first against the wall, hands magically pinned above his head as his husband  pulled him back by the hair to kiss him hard.

"Good morning, mate," Charlie breathed.  A strong arm slid around Ren's taut, narrow belly, holding him tight  as the second dove down to grab and stroke deftly and hard...  Ren threw back his head as strong teeth sank into the tendon at his neck, and screamed till he was hoarse: rising on his toes, every muscle in his back and legs and arms bulging... Just as he was about to climax, a firm hand clamped round the base of his cock, leaving him bereft, disoriented and shaking.

"What are you... No, don't stop, don't... Why are you... Uh!” He gasped as he found himself spun around and arms magically pinned again. "Charlie, what..."

"Didn't I tell you last night how I planned to wake you up, mate?" his husband purred. "I was a bit disappointed, I must say, when I reached for you this morning and found you'd run off on me."

"Wha... Ohhh..." Ren clenched his eyes shut in anticipation as Charlie dropped to his knees before him, the steaming hot water parting neatly around his bright tousled head.

"Mutual consideration," his husband informed him. "Is the foundation of any good marriage, Dash-o'-mine, so let's get one thing straight now, yeah? If you want to get up early to train, that's fine, but you _will_ ask me permission first - either before we go to sleep, or by waking me up and letting me know before you leave the bed. And if you choose the second option, be aware... You're going to have to work a bit _harder_ ..." He inhaled deftly and strongly. Ren bucked and howled.  "To make up for the fact that you _are_ waking me up. I'm no more of a morning person than I've ever been, in any world. S'why I like working with Horntails.  All that swooning about wears them right out, and they never get up before ten."

"Mnrgh," Ren managed. "Okay, I..." It trailed off into a most undignified series of cracked moans as Charlie began to tease him with his tongue and lips, drawing him in tightly inch by inch, releasing him, then sucking him in a little further each time. "Oh Charlie, that feels so good, oh..."

"Course it does," his husband said, releasing him with a wet pop. "Now. Suppose you tell me how sorry you are for abandoning me the morning after our wedding night, Master-Adept Weasley-Cartwright. And make it sincere now, because the more sincere you are, the more sincere _I'll_ be. In the meantime... Let's call _this_..." He licked delicately, gently, his tongue barely brushing him. "Our baseline."

"Nrgh." It was nothing short of a whimper. "I'm sorry, Charlie, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, I promise, I swear,  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SOR..." Then two fingers were suddenly sliding deep up inside him as Charlie swallowed him, hard, all the way. Caught in the rippling soft vise of his throat, and with the additional internal stimulation, Ren very nearly convulsed. Charlie rose quickly and caught him, easing him down to the floor of the tub, kissing his dazed eyes and then his mouth, slowly and deeply as he murmured and praised him and stroked him all over with his hands.

"That's it. That's it. There," he whispered as Ren's tortured breath returned slowly, slowly to normal. "There now. That was good, wasn't it? My good little mate. I love you so much. C'mere, you. C'mere. I got you, Dash. I got you."

Ren just turned and burrowed into the shoulder, climbing half in his lap... Charlie held him close, Summoning the soap, and washing him gently and thoroughly beneath the running water as he kissed his sodden hair and forehead and cheeks and murmured at him. Ren burrowed in further, mumbling back contentedly... Charlie couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Words, yeah?" the wrangler encouraged. "They're our friends!"

"Mm." Recovered, Ren sat up a bit and brushed the water off his face. "With friends like you, who needs words?"

"And here I thought you appreciated my essentially articulate nature. Up we go." Charlie helped him up. "Shampoo?"

"Yes please. I do. I was talking about me again. And now that we don't have two dragons heckling us, I'll be able to pay proper attention when you tell me what you want, as opposed to them telling me _they_ want."

"There's that. Well then. Down you go again. Mm. Look at that. Now, when we last left off, I was just telling you how good you looked on your knees, and I reckon you were about to learn the fine art of accepting a compliment graciously when your mouth is full..."

* * *

 

**Twenty Minutes Later**

"So what's on your schedule for today?" Ren asked as they lolled by the fire, coffee carafe and toasting forks at hand and the plate of crumpets between them. "After we bring Billy over to St. Dymphna's, anyway?"

"You tell me." Charlie slathered his third crumpet with butter and raspberry jam and mmm'd. " _So_ wicked. God bless the teenaged metabolism, _and_ whoever invented butter. Just point 'em out and I'll kiss 'em. With tongue, even." He bit luxuriously.

"Slag. Well, I'm due up at the school for Jax's second surgery at ten, and am having my first meeting with Leanna afterwards, but you don't have to hang around for that."

"How long will the surgery take?" his husband wanted to know.

"An hour, maybe? Second's the shortest, now that the lower layers have set in the bones. Top layer takes the longest, that'll be three solid days of work what with the tattoo she's chosen, and it has to sink deepest to knit the three layers together besides. We're saving that one for the week between Christmas and New Year's, and she'll be ready to come back when the new term starts."

"It's gone well so far, though?"

"Yeah. Though I'm not too thrilled with her family, let me tell you."

"Uh?"

"They haven't been in to visit once. I asked Poppy about it, and she just said that the family business keeps them really busy this time of year. She wasn't excusing them, and I didn't go on about it, but still."

"They'll be in next week, probably," Charlie said practically. "Rush season'll be over then."

"Rush season? What's that? And wait, _you_ know Jax’s family?"

"Who doesn't? Her dad is recruiting manager for the Anglesey Afancs, and her stepmum doesn't just recruit for, but owns, the bloody Wrexham Wyverns."

"The... Uh?"

"Cross-dimensional differentials again. Back home, remember, the Great Britain Quidditch teams would scout out the major Magical schools for hopefuls? Here, each of the four countries have what they call Junior Feeder leagues - formal training schools for younger kids who want to have a go there and want an environment to maximize their potential before their official tryouts."

"Sounds like fun. You ever think about it?"

"Nah. My second year at Hogwarts one of the guys from the Cardiff Turtledragons came through, saw me flying the pitch and offered me a scholarship on the spot - said I could play for England for sure - but Mum vetoed it. Said it was all very nice, but I needed the full formal education first - the league schools aren't that great on the academics, or at least not that comprehensive - and she didn't want me to limit my options besides. Said nobody knows what they really want at twelve, and if I did decide it was what I wanted, I could try out for the big leagues directly once I graduated, since I wasn't likely to lose my talent. I was upset at first, but then I took COMC my third year, and fell in love with dragons. Never looked back."

"Any of your brothers ever try out?"

"Fred and George did end of last year and made it to the second round, but they dropped out then because they were being recruited by different teams."

"Really? But they work best as a pair; they always have. Wouldn't the recruiters have recognized that?"

"They worked best as a pair back in our world," Charlie corrected. "They still play as Beaters for Gryffindor, but when it comes right down to it, Georgie prefers Chasing. Sometimes, some of the teams are only recruiting for one or two potential types of players rather than the whole spectrum, and the team the boys had decided on had already picked their Chasing candidates by the time their audition came up. They tried out together anyway, and they said they'd take Fred, and offered to hook Georgie up with one of the other recruiters who was still looking for Chaser candidates, but they said no, they wanted to be together. Just as well, really. Mum was dead set against the idea, but they whined at Dad enough so he snuck them in. She didn't talk to him for a month."

"What's she got against Quidditch?"

"Nothing. She's just not a big supporter of the Junior leagues. The idea of them, I mean. They train a lot of kids, they get their hopes up, they focus their entire hopes for their futures on them, and only a few ever make it, right? The rest... They crash out when they graduate, and haven't built themselves up any alternatives. Haven't even imagined any other alternatives. And with the substandard education that they get there, no good or realistic prospects."

"If that's all true, I  can't say I disagree with her objections."

"No," Charlie agreed, polishing off the last of his crumpet and sitting up to scrape up the last of his coffee-soaked sugar. "I reckon I get it now, but I didn't when I was a kid. One thing's for sure though, there's a reason she doesn't discourage Niamh from her obsession with speed-racing. They don't have schools for that, and if she did like Quidditch, she'd be the best of all of us, me included. She'd have every team in Great Britain holding lotteries to see who got her, and she's so stubborn and so much Dad's special that nothing Mum could say would stop her, or him from letting her, and wouldn't _that_ be a waste? Bloody next Newt Scamander, that girl. Really, Castelobruxo is the perfect option for her, no matter which obsession she chooses to follow."

"We'll make sure she's settled, one way or the other." Ren, too, sat up. "So… Billy, surgery, Leanna ... I should be done by twelve-thirty. Lots of time to get dressed and ready and prep a nice little anxiety attack to be going on with before we have to leave."

"You worry too much, mate. Really. It'll be fine." He prodded him. "C'mon. It's Lucius _Malfoy._ I know I’ve said he’s decent enough, but you're telling me that you, of all people, don't get even a bit of a kick out of the thought of putting him at the disadvantage?"

"No," Ren said bluntly. "I don't. He might look the same as the Malfoy we knew, but that's it, that's all. And even there... There are differences. He's taller, for one."

"Is he?"

"Yeah. Our Malfoy was five ten, tops. He just wore platform boots to raise him up, and had that chronic poker up his arse to straighten his spine. This one's six four flat-footed if he's an inch, and his hair's different too. Lighter, more icy, and his eyes are blue, not grey."

"You remember him that well?"

"Some people you don't forget."

"Billy's hair is deeper red here too," Charlie conceded. "Actually, there's a lot more variation in the ginger in the family than I remember. Perce was like, blond till he was eight. S'weird, but it's the bagged tea again, I reckon. And you noticed nobody has a problem telling Georgie and Fred apart here?"

"No?"

"No. Georgie's left eyebrow is almost triangular, and Fred's is straight. And his- Freddie's - voice is a touch deeper. Not much, but when they're out of the room and you hear them laughing, you can tell who's who."

"You look just the same." Ren smiled at him a bit crookedly. "Down to the freckles on your ears."

"I just hope I still get those extra two inches." The wrangler sighed dolefully as he looked down at himself. "Blimey, I'm short. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bank window next to Malfoy again and I looked like a total kid."

"You are a kid. A teenager, even."

"Yeah, yeah." He poked him, and hauled himself up. "You finished? Only we need to get a move on."

"Yeah." Ren waved the dishes back to the table and accepted the offered hand. They made their way to the closet. "VINNY!"

"Master Ren called?" Vinny popped in.

'Yeah." He rummaged. "Is there anything in here that's even remotely suitable for tea?"

"No," Vinny said unapologetically.

"You haven't even looked!"

"Is Master Ren having a suit in there?"

"Erhm. No?"

"Is Master Ren having any wizardy robes in there?"

"Erhm. No."

"Then there is being nothing in there that is being suitable for tea."

"I'll go shopping, mate," Charlie reassured him as he tugged on a pair of dark blue wool slacks, a royal blue button-down and a short matching robe. "And pick you out something nice. Want to come, Vinny?"

"Oh, that is not even being a question," Vinny said grimly. "Vinny is not sending his new humans to visit Mistress Niss and Master Lucius on Vinny's first day of work looking as if Vinny is not being able to take proper care of them. Vinny would never be hearing the end of it from Vinny's parents. _Ever."_

"You don't get along with your folks?" Ren inquired with interest as he browsed his stacks of t-shirts.

'Vinny is getting on with his mother, Bindy, very well. Dobby, on the other hand..."

"Your father is _Dobby_?"

"Yes," Vinny said. "Is Master Ren knowing him?"

"I may have heard Draco mention him once or twice," he lied.

"Ah. Well, Dobby is being a good father, but he and Vinny is often suffering from what Master Lucius is calling essential personality differentials."

"Oh? How's that?"

He sighed. "It is being so embarrassing. Dobby is ..." He lowered his voice. " _Free_!"

"Um. What?"

"It is not being hereditary," he reassured him. "And Vinny is thrilled that Dobby is self-identifying and happy and whatnot, and Mistress Niss and Master Lucius is certainly not caring; he is still being an excellent Head House-Elf, but he is just being so..." He growled. It was absolutely adorable. "All 'If the elf is wearing the clothes of a free elf, and taking days off like a free elf, and accepting pay like a free elf, then maybe the elf should just be admitting that he is not quite as not-free as he is pretending to himself, mm?" The growl repeated itself. "Vinny is _not free_. These is not _clothes_ , and Vinny is _certainly_ not taking _pay_ . Master Lucius may occasionally be offering a little something-something as a token of appreciation for Vinny's hard work, but that is not being _pay_. Also, days off is not days _off_. They is psychological maintenance days. Everybody is needing those once in awhile, Mistress Niss is saying, and it is not counting even as that much if Vinny is going with Master Lucius to the Muggle cinema. Everybody is knowing that it is a Muggle law that you is not allowed to go to the Muggle cinema by yourself. Master Lucius says. You is only being allowed to be buying seats in pairs, after all."

"Mm," Charlie agreed. "Alright. Well, we're off to take Billy over now, and then I'll be back to pick you up and we'll head off while Ren goes up to the school and does his thing. Meet you back here at one, mate?"

"Sounds good." Ren nodded. "Oop. Hang on. Incoming." He went to the window. The burly tawny hopped in, ruffling his feathers as he handed off a package with an attached envelope. "Lemme just… Here we go. ‘Dear Master-Adept, I'm so sorry but Professor Black keeps assigning us ACTUAL HOMEWORK  for History of Magic, and my mother says that if I don't bring my grade there up to an E at LEAST by Christmas week, she won't let me go to the Invitationals. I'M DYING, I KNOW, CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? Anyway, I've enclosed two binders with all my notes on the top twenty contenders; study them in time for our meeting Monday next; I should be caught up  by then, and THERE WILL BE A TEST!  LOTS OF NOTICE, NO WHINGING. Also they published your note to the SA and CA and PI contenders in the morning Prophet, and you are now officially my favourite person EVER, you have made my LIFE.  Leanna Tovis. P.S. Congratulations from all of us in Ravenclaw on your marriage! We're so happy for you both, and don't worry about Rhodes. She's consoling herself with Flint over in Slytherin now, and he's thick as a wall of bricks, but he's also written up in every broom closet in the castle, so she'll be happy again soon enough, or at least busy, which comes out to the same thing with Rhodes, at least during the Quidditch off-season. TEST! STUDY! GO!'"

"Wow," Charlie said. "She's enthusiastic, isn't she?"

"Yeah." Ren set the package on the side table. "She is. Also, she's got excellent timing. Vinny?"

"Yes, Master Ren?"

"Would you mind delivering a quick message for me to the Malfoys while Charlie and I are taking Bill over to St. Dymphna's?"

"Of course!" He poked his head out of the closet. "What is Master Ren liking Vinny to say?"

Ren told him. Charlie sank down on the edge of the bed, staring at him. Vinny leaned against the door.

"You can be doing that?" he whispered. "You is.. actually, _actually_ ... being able to be _doing_ that?"

"Yeah," Ren said. "We've actually talked about it a bit, in theory, last week on the day of my first exam, and...  Oof!" He staggered as he was suddenly hit with an armful of sniffling house-elf. He patted his back, bemused. Vinny slipped down, wiping his eyes.

"Vinny is going now," he said. "Right _now_ ." He cracked out, and cracked back in. "Go," he ordered. "Take Master William to the hospice. Vinny will be finding you as soon as he is having Master Lucius' answer. Which is _going_ to be yes, or Vinny _is_ going to be having something to say about it!"

And there was another crack, and he was gone.

* * *

 

**Castelobruxo School**

**September, 1970**

 

It took Lucius Abraxas Malfoy exactly seventeen days from the morning of his arrival in Brazil to confirm the fact that his host school, protected though it might be from lethifolds, was yet suffering a noxious infestation of great blithering arseholes.

It was all harmless enough, he told, or rather tried to convince, himself his first week out... The impatient sighs, the disdainful rolled eyes, and the constant whispers and sneers aimed in his room-mate's direction were certainly not inconsistent with anything that Hogwarts' more socially challenged individuals experienced on the sadly regular basis. As it turned out, though, those first, relatively innocuous few days were down to Lucius himself, for as undeniably imposing and intimidating and purely foreign as he was, Castelobruxo's native-born students were both intrigued by, and wary of, his presence. As soon as they processed, however, that the young English import was a) not simply tolerating the universally despised Ramone Carriera 's company till his better options came along, and b) had only his off-hand to work with, the gloves came off.

By the end of the second week, the sighs, eyes, whispers and sneers had evolved into an endless stream of not-quite-punishable magical jabs from all sides. The Bite-Me-Bag Hexes aimed at his new friend's satchel of books, the Festering Foot-Fungal charms aimed at his shoes, the Stink-Ink Jinxes that distributed entire conjured bottles' worth of indelible inks over his schoolwork and robes, and, of course, that ever-popular standby of the unrefined and unimaginative the world over: the Pernicious Wedgie Hex... None were particularly insidious (and the Pernicious Wedgie Hex, as Ramone proclaimed, was easily avoided in any instance, and saved on laundry besides) but that didn't mean they reflected restraint on the part of the casters.  Truly harmful attacks, after all, as Lucius was well aware, demanded the personal approach, and all of the incoming were carefully chosen so that they couldn't be traced back to any one individual in any given crowd.  

Ramone himself seemed not particularly bothered by the unrelenting barrage of disparagement aimed his way.  It was, he told his puzzled and alarmed guest when he probed for particulars on the apparent school-wide campaign (for even the youngest of the students, once they'd noted the way the upperclassmen treated the particular individual, joined in like piranhas-in-training) simple jealousy.

"I told you that I am considered a bit much," he said matter-of-factly. "We have that theoretical philosophy of solidarity here in Brazil, but even so. Every family has its crazy cousins, heh? Here at Castelobruxo, I am the crazy cousin. It is not so bad," he added comfortingly at Lucius' austere Look. "And my unnaturally discomfiting levels of personal charm aside, there _is_ my Other Little Issue to take into account."

"And what Issue would that be?"

"You will see," Ramone predicted. "I am not very good at hiding it."

And within another twenty four hours, Lucius Malfoy did see. His first lesson in speed-racing that first weekend should have given him the hint, he reflected... His room-mate was, indeed, as talented there as he claimed. That alone should have been enough to make him a hero of sorts at any school, but therein lay the difficulty - insofar as the particular individual was concerned, it was not, and never would be, a case of 'that alone'.

For Ramone Carriera, as it turned out, wasn't just phenomenally gifted at flying. He was phenomenally gifted at _everything_ . There was not a single class he'd ever taken at Castelobruxo where he'd  not achieved perfect marks, and his equivalent OWL results had resulted in, not the European pinnacle of twelve mere Os, but _nineteen_ shattered national records. Most astonishing of all, and as impressive as the form was, Lucius' jaw had hit the floor with an earth-shaking thud when Ramone told him, rather sheepishly, that he'd managed his Animagus transformation at just-past- _twelve_ : that is, three months before he'd finished his first year of formal magical education.

"I know they all find it annoying," he said plaintively as the two young men made their way to the dining hall at the start of their third full week of classes. "I would find it annoying too, if I were them. But these things we learn, they are so important! All of them!  Should I refuse to learn them, then, so that in the pivotal moment we may all die together in ignorant solidarity?"

"No," Lucius reassured him. "Most definitely not." He was gliding six inches above the ground on a half-sized broomstick, balanced in the standing position and satchel over his shoulder. Ramone had not been joking on teaching him to fly in what he deemed the safest local manner, and the young Englishman had thus spent the entire past two weekends and the few weekday evenings he'd not been spending with Silva with his feet magically glued to the provided trainer model. As they'd dressed for classes that morning, Ramone had held it to him out again, and gestured him aboard.

"You are doing very well," he told his student. "Your body is not distracting your mind any longer with the constant fear that it will fall, so now it is time to proceed to stage two. Immersion. You will ride this everywhere for the rest of the month, and we will see how you are doing then. I have set it so that the charms will release automatically on your verbal command in case of emergency, or to sit in your chairs in classes or lie in your bed, but whenever you travel in the halls or outside, step on, and you will be ready to go."

"Will the teachers not object?"

"No. They will encourage it because you are so tall. They all know the risks that come with each unreasonable inch of leg, heh?  And you will not be the only one; you are a trained athlete with excellent reflexes so you are a bit ahead of traditional schedule, but soon you will see many of the younger students, especially, practicing constantly."

"It all sounds rather like a recipe for disaster to me," Lucius said dubiously. "An open invitation, even."

"One would think, but this type of broom is enchanted only  for the one purpose, and is warded too, to prevent accidents, so they cannot cause trouble with them. You will see."

And again, Lucius did see. He also saw, at the breakfast that third Monday morning, now that the students had settled in and  the routines of the year were firmly established, quite the most awesomely efficient demonstration of organized ostracism he'd ever imagined.  He and Ramone had left their dorm early  so as to avoid the crowds in the halls, and the dining room had been completely empty when they arrived... Fifteen minutes later, every seat at every table was filled - with the exception of  their own.  Said table had no less than thirty chairs, and after another five minutes, every one of those chairs save for the two on which the boys were seated and the one beside them on which they'd piled their things had been unceremoniously Summoned and jammed in elsewhere.

"More coffee?" Ramone inquired brightly as he held up a steaming pitcher and pushed over a woven basket of small blue packets.

"Mm?"  Lucius, distracted, turned his face to look at him. "I am sorry? I did not catch that."

"I understand.  You are not a morning person." His room-mate regarded him sympathetically as he prepared them both their second cups in the manner that he himself preferred it: one packet of instant coffee stirred into heated milk, and a single heaping spoonful of cane sugar. "This is alright. Myself, I am crepuscular."

"Cre... _What_?"

'Most active in the hours around dawn and twilight," Ramone translated. "As opposed to nocturnal or diurnal. Such tendencies often translate over to the Animagus form; I, for example, am inclined as a man there as I am as a frog. The traditional mid-day nap helps considerably. Cheese bun?" He gestured to the small, untouched mountain of fragrant stuffed rolls before them. "We are truly blessed; they are my favourite, and there are so many available for us today!"

"I do not mind mornings." Lucius perused a large pink ball of a fruit with barbed yellow  spikes that he'd selected at random from one of the huge bowls of exotic fruit before him. "Though I will say that I do not generally feel threatened by my breakfast."

Ramone laughed. The sound was blithe and loud, and carried through the hall.  He tipped his wand out of his sleeve. Seconds later, the edge was serrated, and he was slamming it neatly through the fruit.  Juice spattered everywhere... He Vanished the spray mid-flight without so much as a flick of his finger, and put half in a bowl before passing it over.

"It is called _pitaya_. Dragon-fruit. Try!" he encouraged.  Lucius picked up his spoon awkwardly with his left hand and dug at a bit of the pulp: white and spackled with tiny black seeds. It was deliciously fragrant, cool and fresh.

"Very nice," Lucius agreed.  "We eat very little raw fruit at Hogwarts."

"How sad." His room-mate peeled a huge banana and bit, alternating mouthfuls with slurps of coffee and large, happy mouthfuls of warm cheese bun. "That cannot be good for the digestion."

"One becomes accustomed." He had not intended it as an analogical jibe: sympathetic or otherwise, but...

"I suppose one does." For the first time since they'd met, a flicker of real unhappiness crossed the young Brazilian's face... Lucius watched as he braced his shoulders as if against an incoming blow, and, having obviously prepared himself for what he was about to say next, lowered his voice a little. "That does not mean that one should have to. They are sending you a message, Luz, that as long as you associate with me, this will be your lot as well. I will not be offended, I promise, if you wish to..." He trailed off and reached for another cheese bun, avoiding Lucius' eyes.

"Luz," Lucius repeated after a moment. "As opposed to Luis? Another equivalent?"

"No," Ramone said, still avoiding his eyes. "It is a variant. It means not 'Light-bringer', but 'Light', in and of itself."

Lucius scanned him deliberately from top to toe - then, lounging back in his chair, stretched out his legs equally deliberately into the aisle between the tables and slammed the heels of his boots down. Hard. Said legs were quite long enough to cross said aisle, and, unless politely pulled back, were positioned so that all passersby would be forced  to reroute, to inconvenience themselves by stepping over him, or to acknowledge his presence through their requests for him to withdraw.

"Malfoys," he informed his room-mate in his best bored (and projecting) drawl as startled heads turned. "Are not in the habit of sacrificing quality for quantity, Carriera, and while I do appreciate your concern for my social welfare, pandering to the unwashed masses results in nothing besides associative body odor."  Ramone blinked at him. Lucius just settled his bowl into the crook of his right arm and dug into the fruit again. It shot from the dish under the awkward pressure, skidded sideways across the table, and splatted in the aisle on the far side. He glared at his spoon. Ramone patted his shoulder and,  glancing over at the staff table, flicked his fingers. The pulp of the remaining half of the dragon-fruit diced itself rapidly - and he promptly yelped in pain as a dark hand seized his ear from behind and twisted.

"You are not helping him, Carriera," a familiar, heavily accented voice informed him. Lucius blinked as he turned his head. Antonio Silva, just come through the open doors of the dining room, was dressed not in his typical round-collared black robe, but a pair of soft, flexible boots, lightweight cotton trousers,  and a matching, damp and heavily sweat-stained cotton shirt, open-collared and untucked... He had obviously just come in from outside; he smelled, not unpleasantly of sweat again, but of  wild, deep and living things, and his nails were stained dark green. His wand holsters were attached to his belt, there was a battered satchel over one shoulder, and a lightweight, oddly narrow and flexible tri-sectioned broomstick was strapped to his back.   "His muscles will not learn without practice. _Bom dia, Senhor_ Malfoy. I trust that you are enjoying your time with us here at Castelobruxo?"

"Very much so, thank you," _Senhor_ Malfoy said. Again, his patently bored drawl was precise and projecting. "I am quite overwhelmed. Everyone has been so very, very warm and welcoming."

"I am so pleased," the priest said. His deeply accented voice was as bland as Lucius' was precise, and carried equally well. "I have an appointment off the grounds this evening, so you will remain after Nomaj Appreciation for your dueling lesson. In the meantime..." He reached into his trouser pocket and set a small crystal cube in front of him.

"What is this?" Lucius sat up and pulled his legs back as he examined the offering.

"A magical recording device. You will provide me with a comparative analysis of your impressions of the three compositions there as this week's assignment." Silva pressed one of the facets lightly. His new student sat up poker-straight as an abrupt and resounding full orchestra crashed like thunder through the dining hall. Antonio Silva reached for a clean cup and the basket of blue packets, and (spelling his nails clean first) began to prepare his  own morning coffee as a look of rapt wonder washed over the young Englishman's face. For nearly five full minutes, the music soared and rose, the priest making no move to stifle it, simply standing by their table and sipping as he waited. By the time he was finishing his first cup and had prepared his second (exactly as Ramone prepared his, Lucius couldn't help but notice), every resentful and irritated eye was turned their way. No one dared say a word, though, not with _the_ most revered personage in the school standing right _there_.

"What _was_ that?" Lucius Malfoy said incredulously as Silva pressed the facet again. His upper class English accent echoed through the hall in the wake of the abruptly silenced orchestra.

"Carriera will educate you. I must go bathe and change before my classes." He nodded to his nephew as he selected, again as Ramone had, a banana and cheese bun to go with his coffee. Turning, he raised his voice slightly at the eyes now universally fixed on their little tableau. " _Adeus_ , children. May the great God be with you all today in your hearts and studies. Do not forget me, I pray? I will, I assure you, remember all of you." He bowed lightly around as everyone, students and teachers all, murmured back respectfully, then headed off back through the doors, peeling his banana as he went. As soon as he was out of eyeshot, every eye and back (on the students' parts at least) turned again, pointedly and deliberately and with a rather obvious scraping of chair... Ramone just polished off his coffee and stretched luxuriously.

"Well?" Lucius demanded of his breakfast companion.

"It is Nomaji music," Ramone told him. "The piece was composed by a man named Ludwig van Beethoven, several centuries ago. It is the last movement of his Ninth Symphony, called Ode to Joy."

"That is not music, Carriera. I have heard music, and _that..._ That.Is.Not.It."

"You have heard what Magicals pass off as music," Carriera corrected. "When you live in a world, Malfoy-from-England, where there is no magic, you seek to emulate the wonders of God's creations in other, compensating ways." He wrapped a fifth cheese bun in a napkin and stuffed it in his robe pocket as he rose to his feet. "It is excellent music to fly by, heh?" He handed off the shortened broomstick from the chair beside him. Lucius dropped it, hopped up absently, and shouldered the bag handed off to him. His hair fell as a glowing white waterfall around his shoulders and his green robes. In the morning light streaming through the great windows, with his raised height and with the loose fabric flowing about him and hiding his adolescent gawkiness, he offered, in that one moment, a stunning vision of the powerful, breathtakingly formidable man he would become.

"Play it again," Lucius commanded Ramone imperiously as they maneuvered slowly toward the doors. "I wish to hear the  rest, _and_ the other eight."

"The other eight... What?"

"Symphonies. You said this was his ninth?"

" _Sim_. Here, press it like so, No, no, not yet; I shall just..."

"OWWW! _BUGGER!"_ Attention focused more on the cube than on his direction, the young Englishman jumped violently as Ramone, now in frog-form, hurtled directly at his face. He windmilled frantically, feet glued firmly to the broom - and promptly slammed face-first into the door-frame, knocked flat on his back in a tangle of robes, hair, and flailing long limbs. Guffaws and howls of derisive mirth filled the dining hall. Ramone blurred, dropping to his knees beside him, trying to untangle him.

"Luz, are you alright? I am so sorry; I was leaping to your shoulder for the ride, and... _Madre de Dios_ , I am _such_ a fool!" He tried to haul him up - and fell back, clutching his own face, eyes wide and pained as Lucius' fist slammed squarely into his jaw.

Stone silence fell. Lucius heaved himself up, his handsome face smeared with red and his blue eyes icy, furious and glittering grey with humiliation. The bruises rose vividly on his pale cheeks as he glared down at the boy sprawled at his feet.

"I am so sorry," Ramone faltered again. He stumbled to his own feet and turned away, wiping viciously at the tears now falling freely. A derisive snigger sounded, then another, and another... A low, nasty hiss rose from one of the tables on the far side of the room, and was abruptly silenced. Lucius wiped at his nose again, the blood streaming thinly and steadily down his chin and soaking the front of his robes and the ends of his hair as he drew himself up and near-visibly rammed his dislocated dignity back into its proper position.

"I am not familiar with the customs here," he said into the silence. "Is it tradition at Castelobruxo to ignore an individual in need?"

No one - again, not even the teachers - responded.

"I am fairly certain that I have broken my nose," Lucius continued. "And, not to put too fine a point on it, but without the proper use of my right hand in repairing it, I will probably hex it right off. I would be most grateful for assistance."

Covert glances darted around - and still no one moved a muscle or touched their wands. After an interminable moment, Ramone turned, his face smeared with tears. Even from the distance and behind his dark skin, Lucius could see the swelling and the bruises rising on the left side of his jaw. He said nothing, and made no motion to reach for his wand, but there was a swift gruesome crunch as the broken bones reset themselves.

"Thank you, Carriera," Lucius said, and then, stiffly, as he made to turn away again... "My apologies. It was very wrong of me to strike you. You were just trying to help me, I know."

"You had every right to be angry with me."

"No. I did not. You startled me, but as I was distracted and not paying attention to my surroundings, the blame lies with me, not you." He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders as Ramone turned to face him again. His cheeks were still high with humiliated colour, his eyes still glittered, his jaw was yet locked and jutting arrogantly... but....

Ramone glowed radiantly at him. Lucius held out his hand, but instead of shaking it, the other boy turned it, holding the palm flat and face up as he covered it with his own.

"Our tradition is this, heh?"  he said to him.  "I forgive you when you ask me, brushing your sin against me away like so..." He dusted the palm and flicked his fingers. "And when I ask you for the same..." He held out his own hand, palm up. Lucius covered it, dusted, and flicked. Ramone nodded. "You forgive me. And _then_ we shake on it, as men of honour and good will, and think no more on any of it."

"Done."

They clasped hands firmly and shook. Slowly, faces turned away. Lucius bent and picked up his satchel and the abandoned cube, examining the dark crimson stains on his shirt and robes as he did so.  "Thus is my humiliation made complete," he said loudly to no one in particular, with a great heaving sigh and more than a touch of Ramone's own melodramatic accents. "I shall have to write and tell my angel the sad truth - that my family's famed blue blood is simply a metaphor after all. I can only hope that my  vows of eternal love and devotion will be enough to carry my suit through."

"I will light a candle for you. And you yet have your eighteen-inch wand." Ramone patted his back consolingly, the disarming merry glint in his dancing eyes returned as if it had never left. "I am sure that she will take that into consideration as well. I know I would."

"I am much reassured. And that, as you are so fond of saying, is all there is to be said about _that_." Lucius stepped carefully back onto the training broom, resettling his satchel. "Now. Shall we try this again, _Senhor_ Carriera?"

" _Sim, Senhor_ Malfoy! Hola!" There was a whoop and a blur, and a small, bright-eyed blue frog leapt up on his shoulder, shining like a sapphire against the luminous fall of his hair... Lucius Malfoy placed his hand on his heart and bowed lightly and ironically around at the glowering crowds of students.

"I thank you all for your gracious provision of assistance to this stranger in need," he said, his voice ringing. "I will not, I assure you, forget it."

And with that, he exited the dining hall to the appropriate and accompanying thundering grand chorale.

Later that afternoon, he sat at his desk in the Nomaj Appreciation classroom, watching as the rest of the students made their way out. Ramone, his own bruises long gone and jaw back to normal proportions, offered him a sympathetic wink. When all had left, Silva returned to his desk and leaned against it, arms crossed and examining him up and down. Lucius shifted awkwardly.

"If you have a question," the priest said. "It is best you use words. I am an excellent Legilimens, but I am sworn not to use the ability save _in extremis_."

" _Why_?" Lucius blurted in frustration. "They have such respect for you! Why do they treat him so?"

"It is not my place to intervene, _Senhor_ Malfoy. Here at Castelobruxo a student's assigned advisor attends to such matters, and then, only if they are able to definitively identify the perpetrators."

"But you are his uncle!"

Silva said nothing. Lucius looked at him, disconcerted. "They do not know you are related? None of them?"

The priest pushed himself and came over.

"Your right hand, please," he said. Lucius placed it in his palm automatically, his own palm up, bewildered.  The priest probed it delicately, rotating the nerveless stiff fingers, and turned it. A small dark bruise was on the knuckle.

"We shall have to take further measures, I think," he said. "To ensure that the lock holds.'

"Uh?"

"The Headmistress informed me that you broke through this morning, after I had taken my leave of you all at the morning meal. That in your rage and humiliation, you struck Carriera, not with your left hand, but with this, your right."

Lucius looked down, then up. The priest turned his hand over, and brushed his fingers over the palm. It tingled sharply, almost painfully. Lucius flexed his fingers experimentally. They responded easily and readily.

"What are you going to do?" he said, and only half-joking - "Cut it off?"

" _Nao_. If you feel that the lessons I have to teach you are worth knowing, my fine young Englishman, you will have to present your request for my continued assistance in the appropriately conciliatory manner."

"I do not understand."

"I think you do."

He returned to the desk, retrieved his satchel, and left. Lucius pressed his fingers to his eyes. After a few minutes, Ramone's head poked around the door.

"Luz?" he said in concern. "What is it? Are you well? I saw Padre Silva leave; you cannot be finished already?"

"He pointed out that I struck you with my right hand," Lucius said.

Ramone stared at him, then, pushing the door open, came to sit beside him.

"You did, _sim_ ," he said. "You did not realize?"

"Not till he pointed it out, no. It must have only been for a few moments; it was frozen again when we left. I did not..." He stopped. "Is _that_ why the teachers did not offer to assist me?"

"They were very frightened, heh? _I_ was frightened. Padre Silva... He is a priest, yes, but if he were not... He is a very, very powerful Magical indeed. More powerful than all of the other teachers at Castelobruxo put together. For you to be able to break the thrall he put on your hand, even for a few moments..."

Lucius buried his face in both of his fully functional hands.

"I cannot ... He said... This is so important, Ramone. The lessons... They are not just about..." The words stuck. "Will he truly refuse to teach me if I do not..."

"It is not a question of him refusing to teach you, Luz. It is a question of your ability to absorb his lessons." His room-mate hesitated. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you apologize to me this morning?'

Lucius removed his hands and offered him a peculiar look. "What do you mean, why did I apologize to you? I _struck_ you!"

"You did," Ramone conceded. "And I ask again. Why did you apologize to me? I am not questioning your regret," he hastened. "Or your sincerity. I am asking, is that the only reason you did it? Because you were sorry?"

"Ramone..."

He jumped slightly as Ramone took his chin in his hand and turned it. His expression was very sober.

"You are proud," he said. "So proud, Luz. And you truly hated me in that moment. No. Do not say you did not. It was your pride and your hate that broke that lock, both so strong that they overcame even Padre's will.  I bear you no ill will for the blow you struck against me. That is the truth. I understand hate too, you see, _and_ ill will.  But you _must_ see the deeper truth of what I am saying to you now. It is too important for you to refuse to look. To refuse to understand. I do not know anything of the shadows that await you when you return to England, but this... This I do know. You cannot hope to destroy them with the power that pride and hate provide you, my Luz. You will only destroy yourself. And I... For whatever it... _I_.... Am worth to you... I am telling you now that I do not wish you to be destroyed."

Lucius pulled his chin away and covered his face once more. When he removed his hands again, Ramone was gone. He got to his feet and retrieved his books, stepping on the portable broom. Slinging his satchel over his shoulder, he made his way through the spiraled passages to the high, sky-lit rooms of Silva's office, and knocked.

" _Sim_?"

"It's Lucius Malfoy, sir. May I have a word?"

The door slid back. Silva was sitting at his desk, sorting through a stack of papers. Lucius stepped off the broom and placed it and his satchel by the door. Silva eyed him as he shook his right hand wand out of his sleeve, and set it on the desk before him.

"What is this?"

"If I do not have it," he said. "I cannot use it."

"I do not recall you using it this morning."

Lucius gritted his teeth. Silva waited. The young man came around the desk and held out his right hand.

"Bind it," he said. "I cannot..."

The words stuck. The muscle in his jaw jumped. Silva said nothing, did nothing.

Long minutes passed. Neither moved. Finally, finally, Lucius Malfoy lowered himself to his knees and bowed his head.

"Please," he said. "Bind it. Bind... Me."

Antonio Silva took the wand from the desk and slid it back into its holster, under the young man's sleeve.

"Tell me," he directed. "What you did. Why this is necessary."

Another long minute passed, and another.

"They disgusted - disgust - me. I  wanted to shame them," Lucius said at last. "To show them that I was better than they were." His eyes closed tight. "After I fell, and struck... I did not see that they were afraid. I was too distracted by my own anger and humiliation. I wanted only reduce and to crush them. To erase them, to make them realize - to believe - that they were nothing. To steal their names. And.." His mouth twisted. "I used Ramone to do it."

He braced himself for rebuke, as if for a blow... He felt, instead, a cool palm slip under his, supporting it, and the fingers of a second covering it, enclosing his hand.

" _Senhor_ Malfoy," the priest said. "Look at me, please."

He opened his eyes.

"You have a good heart," Antonio Silva said in his heavy accent. " _Nao_ , a great heart. I have seen how you care for my nephew, and I appreciate what you did, and have been doing for him, on the personal level. Do not think that I do not. On the moral level though, and as concerns your actions this morning... I cannot reassure you, as I might another, that your good intentions mitigate your culpability. As you have asked me to teach you to maintain your moral, as well as your political balance, I must tell you this. You suffer from truly crippling levels  of both learned and natural arrogance and pride.  This arrogance, this pride... If you do not rid yourself of it - not just learn to control it, but rid yourself of it _entirely_ ... It _will_ destroy you. It might very well destroy, all things considered... Everything. If you agree again to submit to my methods - and they must be extreme now that I see how truly you _are_ crippled - these next few months will not just be hard. They will be quite nearly impossible, for you must not just learn to accept, but embrace your own insignificance. To voluntarily and joyously submit to that which reduces you. To become, not a shadow, but invisible and yes, despicable to all those whose good opinion you truly value. Only then, _only_ then, will you become that which God may use to further His own ends. You must, as the Book says, decrease so that He may increase."

"But I do not even know if I believe in God!"

Silva laughed softly.

"Not quite 'I do not believe in God'... It is something, at least. Will you trust me?" he asked directly.

"I would trust you a great deal more if I knew why you do not protect Ramone from the arseholes who inhabit this castle!"

"Do you truly think that my interference would help him?"

"Yes, of..." Lucius paused. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "Probably not. I come from my own version of the castle, and am the _de facto_ leader, whether I choose to personally practice or not, of our resident cluster of arseholes. I know how they operate."

"How very fortuitous. A man who can anticipate his enemies' movements is a valuable asset indeed, in any context."

Lucius eyed him.

"You have a great heart," Silva said again. "A beautiful heart. Your master will certainly know this, and if he does not, he will recognize it in you as soon as he meets you properly. It will not detract from his wish to keep you close - the opposite, rather, and he _will_ use it against you, not just to break you, but because he will enjoy watching you fall. And he will use it by putting you in situations such as the one you found yourself in this morning - situations where you are not faced with the uncompromised unacceptable - so easy to identify and reject - but with those where you will tell yourself that you must either accept the lesser of two evils lest you lose all, or surrender to the even more insidious fallacy that doing evil is acceptable if it will result in what you define as good. These two scenarios are more of a danger to you than anything else, Malfoy, because they feed your most dangerous weakness: your wish to reshape the world as _you_ would have it, to define the future according to _your_ vision, via your own rationales that displace God's. _They feed directly into your pride and arrogance_ :  into that which can only destroy you, and as such, and considering what is at stake... There are _no_ circumstances in which you may allow yourself to compromise what you know to be the objective acceptable."

"So what do I do when he demands it of me?" It was not... quite... a wail.

"You find another way," the priest said exactingly. "There is always, _always_ another way. You have but to ask God to show you. And above all, my fine young Englishman, you will not stand on your broom when doing it and advertise yourself as a lord addressing peons? Very impressive, admittedly, but rather lacking in subtlety, and that _is_ what we are working towards here, mm? You must never, never, never forget that you are not seeking to become the power beside the throne, but the power behind it. Thus you will be positioned for the decisive thrust knife to the back should the opportunity present itself."

"That does not seem particularly honourable." Lucius said doubtfully. Silva actually rolled his eyes at that.

"Lethifolds are _evil,_ Malfoy. _Your duty is to destroy that evil._ Your sense of honour as it is displayed in your inherent desire for a fair fight means much to you, I am sure, but in an instance where your ultimate enemy is presented to you back-first and you do have that knife in your hand, your hesitation will prove nothing again but a prideful and self-congratulatory hindrance to your greater charge of discharging your duty. Act first, self-flagellate later, when all those you defend are finally offered the ability to sleep safely?"

Lucius processed that. His lips firmed and he nodded.

"Very well, sir," he said.  "I will trust you. I will put myself in your hands."

Silva tapped his palm. Lucius felt the numb tingle spread through his fingers. It was oddly comforting.

"I will talk to Professor Hernandez," the priest said to him. "You will come to me now, as your staff advisor." He gestured him up. "We have talked enough for the one day, I think. We will discuss your schedule further tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," he said. He went to collect his things, before turning. "Sir?"

" _Sim?"_

"Do you prefer I call you by your title?"

"As you have absolutely no respect for your father, and, as of yet, no understanding of the context behind the honorific.... _Nao_. I do not."

"It is not..." Lucius looked awkward. "I do not wish you to think that I have no respect for you or your office."

"My office is not relevant to our relationship. Not at this point in time, anyway. If God wills that things progress there, it will, and in the meantime, you may continue on as you seem inclined."

Lucius inclined his head, shouldered his satchel, and stepped onto the broom. The priest watched him settle himself.

"Why are you yet wearing your shoes and socks?" he asked curiously.

"I am sorry?"

"It is not the custom to wear such things when riding in the standing position, however skilled one might be. They interfere with one's ability to maintain grip and balance. You will progress far more quickly if you simply leave them off, and if you are worried on what those here might think - no one will say anything, I assure you. They are accustomed to the sight."

"I am not worried." Lucius looked disconcerted.  "I did not know. Ramone said nothing of it to me."

" _Nao_? Ah well." He returned inside. The door closed. Lucius regarded it, puzzled, as he turned and maneuvered his way down the hall. Once back in his dorm, he closed the door to his room and dismounted the broom. The door to the private bathroom opened, and Ramone emerged.

"Is all well?" he asked, anxiously. Lucius held up his frozen hand again. The look of relief on the other boy's face was so profound it was painful.

"Praise God," he said, and sat abruptly, burying his face in his own hands. Lucius sat beside him.

"Ramone," he said.

"Yes, Luz," he said from behind his fingers.

"How is it that the most powerful Magical in the Western hemisphere is teaching here at Castelobruxo?"

Ramone lowered his hands.

"He teaches here because he is the most powerful Magical in the Western hemisphere," he said. "And those he teaches learn."

"And no one has made the connection between his talents and yours?'

His room-mate offered him a peculiar look... and his expression changed slightly, warily.

"He told you that he is my uncle?"

"Yes. And that no one here is aware."

"What else did he tell you." It was very flat.

"That it is not the custom to ride a broom while wearing shoes and socks, if one is standing."

Ramone shrugged indifferently at that. "Most do not," he said. "I do."

"Why?"

"Because it is how I learned. And as it is what I know, it is how I teach." He got to his feet and made his way back to the bathroom. "I am pleased for you, Luz.  Excuse me. I am not feeling well."

The bathroom door closed behind him. Lucius stared after him, puzzled. He rose... And his eye fell on Ramone's wand on the night table. He picked it up. It seemed oddly balanced. He glanced at the door, and flicked it. Nothing happened. He tried again. He frowned, glancing at the bathroom door a second time. Looked back at the wand in his hand and concentrated, murmuring. The door opened. Ramone stood there, unsmiling. He started guiltily.

"If you have a question for me, Malfoy-from-England," the young Brazilian said. "It is better to ask, heh?"

"Why do you wield a dead stick?" Lucius asked him bluntly.

"It is not dead. It simply does not work for anyone other than myself. It cannot. it is not the nature of the wand."

"I have never heard of such a thing."

Ramone Carriera came and took the wand from him. Flicked it. The sides seemed to pop out, forming the handle like that on a sword. He touched the tip. It morphed and changed, flat, needle thin, razor sharp. It was dead black, save for a bloody red tip.

"Bloodthorn," he said. " _Tio_ Antonio grew the plant for me, and donated the core."

"Donated... I'm sorry?" His bewilderment grew.

"He has not shown you his Animagus form?"

"No. He said that we do not know each other well enough yet."

"Ah." Ramone folded the crosspiece down. The wand shimmered and returned to its innocuous shape. "Bloodthorn is rare. Almost unheard of, and grows only on this continent. It adapts to the needs of the Magical, and focuses its interests as does the Magical. Only to the one Magical, ever. It disguises itself for me because I do not wish anyone to know I carry one."

"Why not?"

"We do have a library here, Malfoy-from-England. I am sorry. I am not angry, but I am very tired." He transformed abruptly, and in frog form, burrowed under the pillow on his bed. Lucius stared down at him, or rather at the pillow, and retrieved his training broom. Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on the floor of one of the long aisles in the library, leafing through the index of an old and tattered book on South-American wandlore. He flipped awkwardly to the indicated page and read the contents carefully, several times, before returning to the final paragraphs.

**The bloodthorn bush is a rare, nearly extinct plant that grows exclusively in the South and Central American continents. It is extremely and magically powerful, but even the best of wandmakers rarely work with it, or rather the thorns from it, because they bond so exclusively with one type of individual and will not function, as wands, on even the most minimal of levels with anyone who does not meet the prerequisites.  As most wandmakers will go their entire lives without meeting anyone who does qualify, there is simply no point in crafting such an item on anything but individual order.**

**Candidates**

**It is said that bloodthorn wands are drawn to those who have suffered trauma so profound that the tormented may only be described as those whose souls have passed over and returned to the land of the living by way of the long road through Hell. It is no way an exaggerated metaphor - while there are many who believe that they have suffered such pain, if they can yet find a wand to match them, they would not suit as a candidate to a bloodthorn wand. Such creations become literally, the only option left to the individuals in question.**

**History of the Bloodthorn Bush**

**Standardized botanical descriptives aside,  popular legend holds that when Christ was nailed to the Cross, the crown of thorns (shaped from an ordinary variety of plant) that had been placed upon His brow by Pilate's soldiers was cast aside by his followers, in a ditch beside the tomb where he was buried on Good Friday. On Easter morning, when He was resurrected, the light flooding from the opening tomb caught the discarded crown, transforming it into a live thorn bush - black as the sky over Golgotha at the moment of His death, yet forever too, stained by His blood. The newly born bush, though, was unable to hold its shape in such close proximity to the Holy; when He emerged in full, it immediately burst into flame and was destroyed. Upon seeing it perish, the Resurrected Christ touched the blackened remnants and turned them, not back to the flowered plant, but to seeds. It is said that when His disciples came to the Tomb at the word of the women who came to report His absence, those seeds caught on the crevices of the sandals of those destined to become the Apostles. When they took ships across the sea to preach His Word, the seeds were released and blown into the waters. Carried by the waves, the seeds landed on the shores of South and Central America - now the only locations where the bush is known to grow.**

**The resulting wands bond to one owner and one owner only in reflection of the truth revealed for once and all through the Cross: that as His pain was borne for each of us as individuals, each soul is, by definition, unique and precious and irreplaceable in the eyes of an infinitely loving God. When the owner dies, the thorn dissolves, returns to seed, and is blown on the breath of God to where it is intended to root, grow, and be discovered by those other dying souls who most need its fruit to guide them back to life.**

**Complementary Cores**

**Bloodthorn wands accept one core and one core only: phoenix feathers. The bloodthorn represents the killing pain of what the Magical has suffered, and the feathers embody death and rebirth. At the moment of bonding, the Magical suffers intense, near deathly pain - the pain of a tormented soul that, seeking only the peace and comfort of death, is directed back again by God's own Hand so that it might be transformed into something as beautiful as only that kind of suffering can make it.**

Lucius Malfoy stared down at the pages, trying to process what he had just read.

**Bloodthorn wands accept one core and one core only: phoenix feathers.**

_Tio Antonio donated the core._

_He has not told you his Animagus form?_

He rose, nearly jumping out of his skin as he turned the corner and saw before him Antonio Silva, a few feet away, reshelving a book as he talked quietly to a small, round woman with dark hair. The woman caught sight of him and waved.

 _"Senhor_ Malfoy!" Professor Inez Hernandez hailed him. "Padre Silva was just asking me if I would  consider granting him the privilege of advising you this year. What do you think? Would you like that?"

Lucius clutched at the book he held awkwardly.

"I would be honoured," he said. "But no more so, Professor, than I would be should you refuse him."

"Very diplomatic." She twinkled at him. "Truly, though - you will have a difficult time of it if you accept. He is hard on those he advises, _Senhor_ Malfoy. He believes that God sends them to him for a reason, and thanks Him by attempting to forge them all into saints like himself."

Silva rolled his eyes at her fondly. She ignored him.

"I am serious," she persisted. "And with you, he will only have ten months, not seven years, so it is bound to be quite intense, mm? And one thing is certain; even if he does not make a saint of you... Once he is done with you, you will never be the same again."

"I did not come here, Professor Hernandez," Lucius said after a moment. "Only  to return the same man I was when I left. If that was my intent and desire, I would have heeded Carriera's advice and gone back to England the evening I arrived."

Inez Hernandez' smile faded a little. She looked him over, her dark eyes suddenly unfathomable and unreadable.

"I am glad to hear it," she said. "Very well, Padre." She nodded to the priest. "He is all yours." She bowed to Lucius.  He bowed back formally - and nearly jumped out of his skin again as she blurred, rearing up as a thirty foot anaconda before him. She flickered at his cheek with her tongue as a kiss before catching him up in her coils and squeezing him in a hug that very nearly made him sick up.  As it was, he was profoundly grateful he'd gone to the loo on the way down...  Antonio Silva just threw back his head and laughed at his wild-eyed expression as she transformed back.

"She has absolutely no sense of propriety," he said to his new charge, as his eyes danced at the grinning woman. "You see how she does not even have enough self-respect to ask for your remembrances before showing herself to you in all her glory?"

"And you are a poor excuse for a priest, Antonio Silva," she returned "Never mind the innuendo, if you require the selfish price paid before opening your heart to those God sends your way. You are a good boy, _Senhor_ Malfoy," she said to the young man before her. "I will not task you with remembering me, you will have quite enough to manage retaining everything this one will throw at you, but if you remember that much at least, from all that I have taught you, I will be content."

She winked. Lucius shifted as she turned to leave.

"Professor Hernandez," he said. She turned quizzically.

"About this morning," he said awkwardly. "Carriera said that. Erhm. I  fri... Erhm. Unnerved a few people. With my bad temper. If you were one of them... I apologize. I'm working on it, I promise."

"I am glad to hear it," she said again. Her tone was austere to say the least... Silva laughed again.

"And this is why she is a snake, yes?" he said to Lucius. "Have you ever heard a woman so crushing?"

"Yes, actually," he said. "My Transfiguration teacher back at Hogwarts. She is not a snake; she is a cat, but that, I think, is only because she is a Scottish minister's daughter, and would consider it rude to display as an actual tiger."

Professor Hernandez stuck her tongue out at him. It came across more as a serpentine flicker... She disappeared around the corner.  Silva reshelved his second book.

"You are yet wearing your shoes and socks," he observed, eyeing Lucius as he remounted the training broom.

"Ramone said it was how he learned. I would have inquired further, but he did not seem to be in a mood to answer more questions."

The hand on the book stilled. The air shifted slightly as a wordless warding spell rose around them.

"He is in your room?" Silva said quietly. "Now?"

"Yes." Lucius said. "Under his pillow."

"Under... What did you say to him, that sent him there?" It was sharp - harsh, even. He spun and stepped forward, wands not quite out of the holsters, but crowding him back. "What did you do to him?"

"I..." The young Englishman stepped back and away, suddenly genuinely frightened.. The priest didn't just look dangerous, he thought; he looked... "No. No. I do not know! Nothing, I think? I came in, he confirmed the fact that you told me that you were his uncle, and he became tense, and asked me what else you had told me, and I said nothing. Of him, I meant, that you had told me nothing of him, only that one did not ride standing with shoes and socks, and then I asked him why he did not do so, himself, and asked him why you were teaching here, and why he used a dead stick for a wand, and he showed it to me, and told me what it was made of, and that you had donated the core, and I did not understand him, and he asked me if I had not seen your Animagus form yet, and I said no, we did not know each other well enough, and then he sent me down to the library after he said he was tired, not angry but tired, and ..."

"Stop." He put his hand up, and one to his temples. Lucius shut his mouth immediately, choking back the flood of words. Silva reached out and took the book from him, turning to the marked page. His lips tightened as he scanned the contents.

"This is not public information," he said to him."You will not discuss it, or the context that brought you here to research it, with _anyone_ .   _You will not discuss it_ , and you will ask him no more questions on the subject.  If he wishes to talk on it, he will bring it up, but again...  If I find that you have initiated any conversations there,  I will see you sent home on the next portkey, do you understand me, Malfoy? I will Obliviate you myself, of everything you have seen and learned here - _everything_ \- and you _will_ be sent home."

Lucius nodded quickly, wide-eyed. Silva tapped the book. It Vanished as if it had never existed.

"You will come to the western steps," he directed. "Tomorrow at four. Bring your broomstick- not this trainer, but your own - your dragon-hide gloves, both of your wands, and clothes as similar to those you saw me wearing this morning as you possess." His eyes raked over him. "If you do not wish  to see your hair lying shorn on the steps before we leave, make sure it is secured firmly.  As it is, and where we are going... It could get you killed. "

"Four... In the _morning_?"

" _Sim._ You have classes beginning at nine. You will miss none for the fact that you are now in my hands."

"Where are we going?"

"To build a tree-house," Silva said, and turned on his heel, and left.

* * *

 

**Wiltshire, England**

**Wednesday, November 26, 1991**

**8.30 AM**

"Luke? May  I interrupt a moment?"

Lucius Malfoy smiled as he turned away from the sterile white counter in his potions lab, holding his dragon-hide gloved hands away from his body as he bent to kiss his wife's upturned lips. She mmed, then slid back, boosting herself up on a stool.

"Have you slept at all? And... Dare I ask?" she inquired, glancing about at the even half-dozen burbling cauldrons, all covered and set to simmer in a neat row before him.

"No, but the results were well worth the sacrifice, I assure you. I shall catch a few hours before the meeting tonight. As for my current project..." He held up a sprig of copper-coloured berries. Narcissa's brows shot up. There was only one potion she knew of that required the particular ingredient. "All is fair in love and war, and when it comes down to it, we shall have but the one truly effective shot. Now, what may I do for you?"

"Vinny just brought us a message from the newlyweds."

"Oh?"

"Charlie has several errands to run today after they bring William to St. Dymphna's and before they arrive here for tea," Narcissa said. "Master Cartwright has only one other commitment, up at Hogwarts - young Jacia King's second surgery - and as he estimates it only taking an hour or two, is offering to come over early, or to remain later, at our convenience,  in order to remove your Mark."

"My..." Her husband  blinked down at her as he slipped off his gloves. "Mark?"

"Yes."

Lucius looked at her, then down at his right arm. It was, as always, covered, and cuffed decorously at the wrist. "Ah," he said, and sank on the stool opposite. Narcissa took his hands.

"You're the strategist, Lucius," she said quietly. "Only you can decide."

Lucius  rubbed his temple with his left hand.

"If I say yes," he said. "There's no turning back. And we've been so careful. Everything... _Everything_ that we've done so far, Niss... Can yet be translated two ways. The way that we intend ... And the way I could convince him that we have intended all along, should it come down to it."

"I know," his wife said. They sat in silence. The thin, watery winter light streamed through the windows.

"What are you thinking, my love," Narcissa asked quietly.

"That I don't know if I can do it again," Lucius said honestly.  "I just... I'm tired, Niss. So tired. It's been ten years, and I'm still tired. But there's no one else to do what I did, is there?"

"Pride?" she said. "Or truth?"

"It's not pride. I'm not proud of anything I did. I did it because it had to be done. If I do it again, I will do it because it has to be done."

"The world has changed since then," she pointed out.  "The factors have changed. The players have changed. You're not alone this time, Lucius. _We're_ not alone."

He said nothing, just turned on the stool, and lifted the lid of the cauldron. Inside, the smooth, glittering golden liquid burbled softly. She watched as he stirred precisely, twice, counter-clockwise, with his wand, replacing the lid and proceeding down the line before reseating himself.

"Liquid luck," he said. "He'd twist my ear for it."

"Why?"

"Because it epitomizes presumption. The desire to influence and shape the future as I deem fit, rather than trusting God."

"And we believe in God now?"

"We believe in what is acceptable and what isn't. We know that the things that Antonio Silva taught me worked toward the acceptable, and allowed us to reach this point. And there have been a rather bewildering numbers of miracles of late, all working toward the acceptable, and none of which resulted from my specific actions."

"Which translates as..."

"I would do my best," he said. "But I am not the man I was, my heart, twenty years ago or even ten. I simply cannot guarantee how effective I would be.  If there is a God, He would be well aware of my true  capacity there, and as that is true, and as none of the miracles worked lately do have anything to do with me, or with anything I have done... I would say that He is telling me that whatever is coming is best worked through other hands than mine."

"And if there is no God?

"It does not matter, really. Silva would tell me the same thing, and again... He never taught me anything, or told me anything, that did not reflect, and work toward, the truth."

"But you still feel obliged to leave the option open. And if you do... You will feel obliged to go back if the necessity arrives."

"And what would you have me do?"

"Knowing now, as I didn't - couldn't-  know then, on what would be waiting? I was only able to manage it the first time, my lovely, because of my ignorance.  If you feel that you must go again, you must go... And I will be here, always... But as I have promised all my life to take care of you, I cannot - not will not, but _cannot_ \- send you back there on order."

"And what of the rest of the world?"

"I don't care about the rest of the world," Narcissa Malfoy said bleakly. "I care about you."

Lucius  wiped his eyes. She rose, and came to sit in his lap. She pressed her face to his chest. He pressed his face to her hair. After a moment, he reached in his pocket and removed a single bronze knut, lying flat in his open palm. His wife reached out and touched it. It was warm from his body.

"Do we believe in God now, then," she said again. "Or fate, or luck?"

He offered her hair a small kiss.

"I truly, truly do not know, my heart," he said. "But I do know this one true thing. As neither of us seems to be equipped to make the objective decision, we are just going to have to pray that whatever happens next works towards the ultimate acceptable."

Narcissa sat up a bit. Lucius tucked her into the curve of his right arm, lifting his left hand and balancing the knut on his tucked left thumb.

"Heads, it stays," he said. "Tails, it goes."

"And the prayer to go with it? Just in case it's not down to fate or luck after all?"

"St. Michael the Archangel," Lucius Abraxas Malfoy said grimly. "Defend us in battle."

And Narcissa Black Malfoy rested her head on her husband's broad, strong shoulder as they watched the coin spin, shining, toward heaven.


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> VOCAB LIST  
> Nossa Senhora! - Our Lady! (refers to Mary, Mother of Jesus - an exclamation of shock)  
> E ai - How are you?  
> Nao - No  
> Nao ha de que - You're welcome  
> Obrigado/Obrigada - Thank you  
> Muito bueno - Very good  
> Desculpe-me - I'm sorry  
> Mil perdoes - Forgive me  
> O que aconteceu - What has happened?  
> Tio - Uncle

 

**Castelobruxo School, Brazil**

**September 18, 1970**

**8:20 A.M.**

The long, sunlit room that comprised the main dining room of Castelobruxo was, like the rest of the school, an exercise in the living aesthetic. Colorful exotic plants and ivy of every variety hung from high, white-washed rafters and scattered, slender white stone pillars, and the entire glassed eastern wall offered a stupendous view of the massive, descending tiers of steps that led down at perilous angles to the sprawling, magically temperature-controlled grounds below. It was all quite idyllic, Lucius Malfoy had thought his first few days in Brazil, never mind the deeply pleasing emerald green robes that abounded everywhere. He'd felt positively assaulted by the brilliance of sound, fragrance, light and colour all about him, and even after going on three weeks, he almost expected, when reaching out and touch any given surface, to bring his hand away stained and dripping as if with melted jewels.

His first four-hour foray into the untamed interior of the continent had, surely, left him stained and dripping, but that being said...

There had been absolutely no jewels of any variety, melted or otherwise, involved.

 _"Nossa Senhora_ !" The words slipped from more than one startled pair of lips as the two figures entered through the vast double doors. There they separated: the first, shorter one patting his companion's shoulder and heading off briskly toward the table reserved for the staff. The second, flushed and scarlet with heat as he was, and sweaty - no _soggy_ \- in his stained and tattered cotton shirt, trousers and transfigured light boots - staggered over to the table closest to the window, sliding down bonelessly and resting his cheek on his folded arms. Ramone Carriera stood hastily, shoving his books and breakfast aside as he Summoned a clean pottery mug and a pitcher of steamed milk.

"Are you alright?" he asked his room-mate solicitously. Lucius - rumpled, bedraggled, and not just caked, but _iced_ in filth - just opened one bloodshot eye and offered him a weary look. Ramone said nothing else, just cast a conciliatory anti-odor and (largely ineffective) cleaning charm, and began to  prepare him his coffee. Lucius heaved himself upright with considerable effort, and was just reaching for the offered mug when his left hand froze. He blinked down at it, confused. Across the room, Antonio Silva nodded to the teachers and made his way back toward the two boys. The surrounding students watched covertly as the priest - his clothes no less filthy than his new student's, however more determined his personal cleaning charms - transfigured a cheese bun into a chair and seated himself comfortably.

"So, my fine young Englishman." His voice was pleasant and carrying, projecting via a silently cast _Sonorus_ to the furthest corner of the dining hall. He selected a mango and began to peel it neatly with his left-hand wand. "Now you have seen a little more of our beautiful Brazil. It is not much like your own home, _sim_?"

"No," Lucius examined both of his dysfunctional hands, trying, and failing to flex them rather obviously.  "No sir. I believe that that is a fairly safe and accurate assessment."

"The immersive experience is by far the most educational," the priest agreed, ignoring his gesture. "And what do you think of my little hobby? It is not every day you meet a priest who builds playhouses for the _bandar-log,_ mm?"

Ears perked and eyes swerved all around.

"You are the first priest I have ever met, sir, so I am sure I could not say. As for the houses...  I quite liked the hanging curtains made of carnivorous sword vines. I shall have to recommend the fashion to my girlfriend's Aunt Walburga;  they would go very well in her drawing room."

Ramone sniggered into his coffee. Silva laughed, then _tched_.

"You are not eating," he scolded his newest student. "This will not do at a - Ah. I see the problem now. May I offer you my assistance?"

"Thank you, sir."

Lucius held out his left hand, waiting for the priest to brush his palm. He did not, simply took a cheese bun, tore it into pieces, pulled his chair up a bit and held a piece to his lips. Lucius crossed his eyes at it, and at him, pulling back slightly.

"What..."

"You have been up for many hours," Silva said gently to him. "And your day has only begun. You have been so kind, offering me your hands toward the end of my labours...  Now I offer you mine. Please." He held out the food again. "Eat."

Lucius pushed his chair back a bit more and stood. It scraped loudly. The priest said nothing, watching him with those soft dark eyes. Ramone looked from one to the other uneasily. The boy stared down at his teacher, cheeks slowly flushing with dull, high colour, his shoulders tightening.

"I am not hungry," he said stiffly. "Thank you."

Silva shrugged, ate the piece of the cheese bun and reached for his coffee.

"Carriera," he said, sitting back in his chair. There was a pause.

" _Sim, Padre_?"

"You will not provide _Senhor_ Malfoy with food, at any hour. He eats from my hand or not at all." He flicked his fingers. "He will remain hydrated, so."

Lucius' face whitened, then flooded with colour again. Murmurs sounded. He took another step back, his chin lifting, the grey glitter flowering.

"Luz," Ramone said urgently, quietly. "Do not... Remember what we talked on, what..." He cut himself off, his eyes filled with worry and dread as he looked from one to the other. Lucius did not look at him. His lips were a taut, white line as he struggled, not with temptation, but his temper.

"I. Am. Not. _Hungry_ ," he bit out.  Silva poured a bit more heated milk into his coffee mug. From the staff table, the teachers exchanged uneasy glances.

"I have three rules, _sim_ ?" Silva said, not looking at him as he sipped. He made no effort to modulate his own voice, or to dismiss the Sonorus charm. "For you, _Senhor_ Malfoy, now that you have accepted my authority. They are these. Firstly, you will not raise your voice to me  - you will honour your word, and treat me with the respect you yourself have promised me.  Secondly, if I am offered proof that you have lost your temper again, with anyone, you will have both hands returned to you at once. The apology you offered me yesterday - I will demand you repeat it to me, and to those you have offended, in front of the school. After that... There will be no 'after that'. I will offer you no third chances. Finally, if you ever strike another student as you did Carriera yesterday, there will be no chances at all, second _or_ third. I will return to you to Professor Hernandez' care, where you will find her, I assure you, a great deal less merciful than I on the subject." Lucius' left hand suddenly relaxed. "Since you are not hungry, you may go bathe and put on appropriate robes. Pray do not forget me? I will, I assure you, remember you."

Lucius bowed stiffly, turning away.  The priest turned his eyes as he sipped his coffee and watched him go.

" _Senhor_ Malfoy," he said as the boy reached the double doors. Lucius stopped, but did not turn. It was not petulance, Silva knew, but to hide the tears of rage and helplessness now slipping down his cheeks, behind his now-loosened curtain of hair. For a long moment, he struggled.

"Yes, sir."

"It was most pleasant to have your company this morning. You will join me again tomorrow."

Lucius said nothing more, just disappeared. Ramone fidgeted anxiously. Silva drained his coffee, rose, and bowed around.

"You will none of you enlighten him on the true nature of my hobby," he said to the students and teachers. "I should hate for any of you to have to explain your reasons to Jesus should any of the _bandar-log_ fail to attain a good night's rest as a result. May the great God be with you today in your hearts and studies, children, and may we remember each other as He remembers us all."

He shouldered his broomstick, and, humming softly, made his way out.

* * *

 

**Early Evening**

**Antonio Silva's Quarters**

Lucius stepped off the training broom wearily. His satchel thudded to the floor. Silva examined him from his desk as the young man turned to face him, so tired he was fairly swaying on his feet.

"You look unwell," he observed. "Come here to me, _Senhor_  Malfoy."

He came, wearily again. He held out his right hand on Silva's indication... The priest examined it briefly, patted it, and released it.

" _Muito bueno._ Please. Make yourself comfortable."

Lucius turned to the sofa. A soft _tch_ sounded.  He turned back. Silva nodded to the floor beside his chair. Lucius pressed his fingers to his eyes.

"Please," the priest said again. It was not a request.

Lucius folded to the floor to  his knees in an ungracious tangle of limbs, bowing his head so that his hair covered his face.  Silva watched the way his long elegant hands, loose by his sides, trembled with fatigue and stress.

"You were at neither lunch nor dinner. You are sixteen, _Senhor_ Malfoy," he said quietly. "You are yet growing. You must eat."

"I am fine."

Cool fingers touched his head. The long hair - it came nearly to mid-back - flew back and fastened itself in a neat, functional braid. A glass of milk, a bowl of fragrant stew, a soft brown buttered roll and a dish of sliced fruit appeared on the desk.

"It is hard, I know," Silva said to him. "I know how they all treated you today. You were hungry and exhausted, and afraid to defend yourself for fear of this moment... But you kept your temper when they tried to provoke you. I am pleased. So we will practice a little in private, _sim_ , as your reward, and you will see it is not so bad."

Lucius just pressed his fingers to his eyes again. Silva took the bowl, and turning the chair a little, held the filled spoon before his lips. He turned his head away stubbornly. The spoon returned to the bowl and the cool fingers turned his chin back firmly.

"Some things," the priest said. "I will permit you to struggle with at your own pace. This is not one of them. You must eat. Open." Lucius' lips tightened to iron.  The fingers on his chin tightened in turn, not -quite- painfully.

"I am not offering you the option, my fine young Englishman. You  may only refuse me when you are able to bring the food to your lips with wandless magic."

Lucius Malfoy's glare was positively poisonous with hate and resentment. The priest's returned gaze was soft with compassionate understanding, and just as indomitable.

"We will remain here like this," Antonio Silva said. "Till you are finished this meal, if it takes till four in the morning. Then we return to the jungle, and return to the castle afterwards, and start again with breakfast. In the hall again, for this is, as I said, your single chance to accustom yourself in private. It will be difficult to help me build tree-houses without sleep, and of course, your other teachers will be quite disapproving if you do not finish your classwork, but..." He slid the spoon in deftly as Lucius abruptly opened his mouth. The stony grey eyes stared over his shoulder  as he chewed and swallowed mechanically... The milk was a bit more awkward, he flinched violently away as the priest re-positioned his chin to help him drink, half spilling down his robe.  Silva made no comment, reaching for a napkin to dry him rather than using a cleaning charm... When the last bite was gone, he Vanished the dishes, and turned in his chair. The satchel spun over.

"You may sit to do your homework," he said as he adjusted his stack of marking.

"Here? On the floor?"

"It will be most convenient, _sim_ , if you have questions?"

He rearranged himself, removed books from his bag, setting them out. Silva began to grade quickly and neatly. Every now and again, a soft _tch_ of dismay, and occasionally a snort of amusement, sounded. There was a knock at the door.

"Come," he called. The door slid open.

"Padre Silva. I..."

Lucius's jaw jumped as he felt the Headmistress of Castelobruxo's eyes fall on him. He did not look up, just continued to scribe his Charms assignment as neatly as he could manage it, pausing only to turn the pages of his textbook. She said something to the priest in Portuguese. It sounded decidedly terse. The words returned were mild, but... Not. There was a pause.

" _Senhor_ Malfoy," the priest said.

"Yes, sir?" Lucius continued to write. Each line of each letter was a small, precise exercise in concentrated control of his fingers, complicated by the fact that he was using a Nomaj biro, or pen, as the locals called them. Quills, he had been informed in his first class, were messy and impractical, and parchment a purely romantic indulgence... The bottles of ink remained the same, but were used to fill the 'ball point cartridges' inside the pens via charm, not to dip one's implement. Ramone, of course, had been fascinated by the European alternatives, and immediately seized Lucius' imported supply to practice with when doing his homework. He always transfigured the results back to the standard before handing in his results, of course, but continued to enjoy indulging himself in private... After only three weeks, his calligraphy was already better than that of the purest of the purebloods back home.

"The Headmistress would like your explanation of why this is necessary," Silva said.

The biro stilled, then started up again. Lucius said nothing.

"Well?" the Headmistress demanded.

"Because Professor Silva says it is."

"I would like to hear it in your words, _Senhor_ Malfoy."

 _Senhor_ Malfoy was abruptly and for whatever reason, far more irritated than he was humiliated. He lifted his eyes to look at the woman before him. She was beautiful, he thought - of a good height, with warm skin the color of a walnut, coiled dark hair, and a shapely figure under her robes. He knew, too, from her reputation that she was considered quite powerful, and an excellent duelist. His eyes flickered over her dispassionately.

_Overbalances on her right foot. Elbow cocked a little too far from her hip._

_One good tickling jinx slipped under that elbow and a simultaneous boomerang jinx to the back of her knee would bring her down like an ox._

"I asked him to help me," he said. "He was kind enough to agree."

"You are not worried on your father hearing of the details?"

"Are you planning on telling him?"

There was silence.

"I have a responsibility to your well-being, _Senhor_ Malfoy," the Headmistress said. "You have had a most unpleasant day, I understand. Father Silva's methods as an advisor, are, I am sure, very effective, but if they are interfering with your ability to enjoy your time as our guest here at Castelobruxo, we must all review his approach together in order to minimize your personal and social discomfort."

"Who is Ramone Carriera's advisor?" Lucius asked as he returned to his careful printing.

" _Senhor_ Carriera is not at issue here, _Senhor_ Malfoy."

"His lack of personal and social comfort is contributing to my lack of personal and social comfort, and is interfering with my ability to enjoy myself here." The young English import's voice was precise and modulated, but perfectly respectful.  "Perhaps we could call him in, and his advisor again, in order to discuss the situation? In the meantime, however unpleasant my day... I consider myself well-tended."

The Headmistress' eyes bored through him, but in the end, she said nothing, just turned and left. Lucius felt Silva's eyes on him... Two hours later, he made his way slowly back to the dorm, and entered his and Ramone's room. Ramone was huddled under a pile of blankets, thrashing about restlessly. Lucius put his satchel down, and went to shake him.

"Ramone. Wake up."

"Luz?" He sat up, fisting his eyes, suddenly awake. "Are you alright?'

"Yes," Lucius said. "You were having a bad dream."

"Oh." He pushed back the blankets, and made his way to the bathroom, a long thin figure in pajamas, dressing gown, socks and slippers. Rummaging in his drawer for his own pajamas, Lucius loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. Ramone emerged, averting his eyes. Lucius watched as he climbed, yet fully clothed, back into his bed and rolled himself tightly as a sausage in his blankets.

"Does the cold blood translate as well?" Lucius asked him.

"Uh?"

"You are always so warmly dressed. I asked you about riding bare-footed, but I do not think I have ever seen you without socks or shoes, at any point. This is, as you pointed out, the tropics." He pulled on the pajama bottoms and sat, shirtless, on the edge of the bed, reaching for the letter sparkling in on his night table. Made a face at the address, but opened it dutifully. Ramone rolled on his side, watching him as he read, read again, and reread a third time, expression fading further into impassivity with each paragraph. When he returned to the first of the two pages for the fourth time, the young Brazilian could no longer contain his worry. He struggled free of his cocoon, and propped himself on his elbow.

"Luz?" he asked tentatively. "What is it?"

"My parents are divorcing." He refolded the pages neatly and tucked them back in the parchment envelope.

"Divorcing," Ramone repeated, and sat up fully. "What? But... Why?"

"My mother is not a pureblood. Her grandmother, not her mother, was a Nomaj, but by European genealogical definition, the stigma there remains till the third generation of fully Magical descendants are born. She is, therefore, considered a half-blood, and there will be no place for her in the public, political eye as a spouse of the Head of a Noble and Ancient House such as Malfoy in future years." He placed the envelope inside the drawer of the night table. "My father has been advised by his superiors of the disadvantages of retaining her as his wife, and has accepted the recommendation that he arrange for her to remove herself from England."

"Are you in danger of disownment?"

"No. I am of that third descendant generation - a pureblood again - and as my father's only child, the last of the Malfoys besides. Too, I have skills that will enhance my House's status. Between that and my presumed and prospective marriage to Narcissa, I am at no immediate risk."

"But where will your mother go?" Ramone persisted. "When will you see her again?"

"I do not know. And I will not be expected to want to see her again."

"Not even at your wedding, or the birth of your children, or..." He stopped.

Lucius pulled the blanket over himself and rolled, face to the wall, closing his eyes tight against the unrelenting light. After a minute, he heard soft footsteps, and his bed shifted, and a long thin body lay, not under the blankets but behind him. Ramone put a tentative arm around him.

"I am so sorry," he said. "I am so, so sorry, Luz."

"It is why I am here," his new room-mate said to the wall. "It is why I was allowed to come here. Father Silva asked me, the first night we talked. Why Abraxas would allow it. I thought it was because he was providing me with a conciliatory alternative to the dueling apprenticeship I had to turn down, and that was the fact, yes... But now I know the truth."

" _Mil perdoes_. I do not understand."

"It was planned. Timed, to coincide with my departure, once I asked for permission to apply to ISEP. I am expected to accept, but she is my mother. I am yet her son. It will be expected that I compose myself before I return, to the point of public indifference at least."

The arm around him tightened. The chime sounded again. Lucius did not move. Ramone turned.

"It is from your angel," he said. Lucius turned, sat up and took it. His fingers were white and chilled as he opened it.

"She has heard," he said. "Of course. Her eldest sister will have told her to cause her distress, because we are apart and she cannot comfort me as she wishes to."

His face was taut and white, remote. Ramone took the letter from his fingers and read it silently.

**_My beautiful Luke-_ **

**_You matter. Everything of you matters. All of you, including the woman who bore you, and gifted you to me. I will honour her always._ **

**_Be brave, my lovely._ **

**_Your_ **

**_Niss_ **

Lucius said nothing as the other boy set the letter aside and spooned again against his unresisting bare back. After a few minutes, the blond boy disengaged gently and slid off the end of the bed. Ramone sat, watching as he fetched his wand and went to the loo. He did not follow him. When he returned...

"Luz?" Ramone said uncertainly. Lucius just tossed the wand on the night table, and the long tail of ice white hair, twisted and hacked brutally at the nape, into the bin. "What..."

"It is a Malfoy tradition," he said. "We address our fathers by their first names, and we do not cut our hair."

"Ever?"

"Not once it has reached mid-back, no. After that... It is maintenance."

"It is not cut now," Ramone said after a moment, examining him judiciously. "It looks chewed.  As if by a lethifold with very bad, soft teeth, heh? A British lethifold. I was quite surprised by your good dental health when I first saw you; I had read that you all are very challenged there."

Lucius stared at him, bemused. Ramone slid off the bed, hauled over his desk chair, and retrieved his wand.

"Sit," he ordered.

He sat. Ramone transfigured his wand into a pair of scissors, and Lucius' into a comb, and began to flick and snip briskly.

"It is better this way," he told him. "When you next fall off your broom, it will not be because you trip on it."

"Sod off, Carriera."

"So pleasant." His wand gusted, blowing hair bits off of him and straight into the bin. "I do not think you are an Englishman at all, Malfoy. Good teeth, bad manners, no love for traditional schoolboy entertainments..." The wand gusted again.

"Where did you learn to cut hair?"

" _Tio_ Antonio. He would come to visit when I was a child, to my family in Rio de Janeiro, and would always cut my hair like his when he arrived. A way for us to remember each other, heh? When I was eight, he let me cut his, and it was so terrible, he showed me how to do it properly." He trimmed carefully around Lucius' ears. "He was there for five days. Every morning and night he would regrow it magically and allow me to practice. It was very amusing for my parents, and my brother Pablo."

"Pablo?"

" _Sim_. After Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet." Ramone set the wands aside, and brushed him off a bit. "We will be studying his works in Nomaj Appreciation in November. He is _Tio_ Antonio's favourite, and Mama and Papa's too.  He says that is why he chose them as my new parents, because though they have not much money,  they have obvious appreciation for the finest things, and so would properly appreciate me." He sat on his bed. "I will write them and ask if you may come home with me for Christmas. I do not expect that Abraxas will think your ability to maintain public indifference likely by then."

Lucius returned the chair to its position and slipped back under his blankets.

"I must sleep," he said. He pulled his pillow under his head. "Are _you_ alright?'

"Me? Why would I not be alright?"

"You had said that you were not feeling well yesterday, and you did not look much better when I came in just now."

"Oh. That." Ramone flicked a hand. "It was nothing. The soup I ate for lunch, and I did not get a chance to practice on my broom today.  The lack of exercise makes me restless, heh? I do not like being locked up inside all day. The castle is big, but never big enough for me, even as a frog."

"I met Professor Hernandez in the library," Lucius said. "Speaking of 'big enough'. I have been reading your Kipling, but I was not aware that certain characters were based off of the teachers here at Castelobruxo."

Ramone laughed at that. "She is very nice though, not like Ka'a. Unless she is annoyed, or you do not do your homework. Then the jungle seems by far the better option, never mind what lies within."

"Mm. She and your uncle seem great friends."

"They are. They went to school together here." The young Brazilian returned to his comfortable cocoon as he mused on that.  "I often wonder about their past, if they were lovers as students, heh? They are so comfortable together, and always with the flirting and teasing too? Never too much, or inappropriately, but it is there sometimes. And before you say he is a priest... He was not always so, and did not begin to study as one till he was twenty two, besides."

"What does his being a priest have to do with anything?

"What do you mean, what does that have to do with... Catholic priests do not marry, Malfoy-from-England. Do you truly know that little of our faith?"

"It is not part of European Wizarding culture, Carriera-from-Brazil. As little as I knew of the niceties of lethifolds, I know even less of those that concern organized religion. "

"I understand this, but..." Ramone propped himself up, staring, flabbergasted, then sat fully, alert and happy suddenly, as he always was, at the thought of imparting information to the uneducated source. "Do you _wish_ to know? To learn? I will be happy to teach you."

"No. I wish to sleep. I could also wish for a working right hand to help me along there, but it would seem neither is likely to happen."

Carriera sniggered and lay down again. "True incentive to improve, heh?"

"Mm," Lucius agreed. There was a silence, then...

"Luz?" It was tentative, and subdued.

"Mm?"

"Forgive me, but... Did you eat today? At all?"

Lucius pulled his blanket over his suddenly tense shoulders.

"Yes," he said shortly. "I did. And I do not wish to talk about it."

"Of course. I am sorry. I just..." He trailed off. "I am sorry."

They both shifted a bit.

"Carriera," Lucius said.

" _Sim_?"

"What is the Headmistress' Animagus form?"

"She does not have one. Officially, she is allergic to mandrake, but I suspect, from what I have heard when traveling about as a frog, that she simply never managed it. Some do not. One may  be very powerful, magically speaking, but it is a question of temperament too."

"She is proud?"

"She is a politician, and worries far too much on what people think of her. She worries enough for herself and them, which is appropriate, since for the most part, they do not think of her at all." He rolled on his back. "She campaigned very hard to become Headmistress here, after the one before her retired. It is a safe place to work, when one cannot transform. Safer, if annoying for her now that _Tio_ has arrived."

"How is that?'

"You have seen how everyone respects him, the teachers included. That is not typical, even for the clergy. It is simply a reflection of how people react to him. And Professora Hernandez is well respected too. She would be Headmistress, were Transfiguration and the related subjects not so important here. They take up her time, heh? It is not a choice that many people would make, even so. The fact that she turned down such a position, so that she could be of more actual help to the students... She is greatly, greatly respected for it. Together, she and _Tio_ , over the last five years since he has come, have raised the success rate for those becoming Animagi before graduation by twenty nine percent. They even hold summer seminars for adults who wish to try for success that they did not attain at school. The Headmistress, of course, preens under the praise that she receives for her apparent arrangements there - but she resents them both tremendously in private, and likes to try to intimidate them. It does not work very well, if at all - _Tio_ is _Tio_ , and Professor Hernandez, by nature, simply cannot be bothered."

"I would not be bothered by much either, if I were a great bloody thirty foot snake. Does her kind of form have any worry from predators at all?"

"No. And that too, is a reflection of her nature. As frightened as all of we here at Castelobruxo are on the thought of discussing our misdeeds with Jesus through _Tio_ Antonio, it is yet nothing next to the fear we all have on facing the wrath of _Senhora Professora_ Hernandez. Her heart is as big as her Animagus form: profound and encompassing as the strength of her coils, but when her fury is awakened...Lucifer himself would be tempted, I think, to run back to Christ's Mother to protect him from harm there. With God, at least, there is the hope of mercy, heh?"

"Have you ever seen her angry?" Lucius couldn't help but ask curiously.

" _Sim_ ," Ramone said after a moment. "Once. It was truly terrible. It took a full month to repair the damage to the castle. She did not touch the wards, but those were the only part of the standing structures that did not retain damage.'

" _What_?"

"It is said that that was why the last Headmistress retired - that she refused to come back to a place where Professor Hernandez was yet employed. When the Board of Governors was presented with her ultimatum..." He shrugged. "Mid-level bureaucrats are easier to replace than good teachers, heh?"

"Salazar's syphilitic _scrotum_." Lucius actually sat up at that. "What the bloody hell _happened_?"

"I will tell you tomorrow," Ramone said. "I, too, am very tired." The blankets collapsed around him... Lucius stared at the sheets and the pillow again... Lying back, he closed his eyes, and promptly opened them again. Tugged the blankets up over his shoulders, rolling to face the wall, and pulled his knees up to his chest before reaching for his own pillow and pulling it over his own head. After a few minutes, he heard the bed opposite shift, and soft slippered feet scuffing to the loo. After a few more, his own bed sank a bit, and the pillow was abruptly removed. Dazzled and disoriented by the sudden light, he barely struggled as  a thin strong arm rolled him on his back and slid under his shoulders, lifting him slightly. Lucius opened his lips automatically as the cool vial touched them. An absolutely unmistakable silky and bitter taste filled his mouth.

"What..."

"Shh. It is a small dose only, but it is past midnight now, and as you did not sleep at all last night, even twice your effective hours of sleep will barely be enough. Those tree-houses of _Tio_ 's, though, they will not build themselves, heh? Close your eyes now, and I will make sure you are awake in good time."

"But what are you doing with Nightshade Draught? Ramone, that is a Class A prohibited substance! You could be expelled if you are caught with that in our room! No, you could be imprisoned! Only a licensed Mind Healer can dispense of that, in the monitored hospital environme..."

Then darkness descended, and he knew no more.

* * *

 

**Three and a Half Hours Later**

Lucius Malfoy sat on the steps, broom beside him, and stared into the darkness beyond the parameters of the school grounds. Soft footsteps sounded beside him. He did not turn about.

" _Bom dia_ , _Senhor_ Malfoy," a soft voice said.

"Sir." It was dull with fatigue. He sensed, rather than saw, Silva move, and smelled coffee, and the warm fragrance of fresh rolls. He did not turn his head.

"Carriera came to me last night," the priest said quietly. "After you were asleep."

Lucius said nothing.

"If you wish," Silva said. "I will arrange letters."

"One does not write letters to the dead."

"I have contacts, Malfoy. I can help."

"No. You cannot. The wording of the message...  It was phrased as such in case of interception by the authorities. It will be put out now that she has gone abroad, and within a few weeks - no more than two months - there will be word of an unfortunate accident. My application here provided a suitable and convenient timeline for this course of events. It was why I was allowed to come. My presence was complicating matters there."

Silva digested that.

"And your woman?" he said finally.

"She is safe enough as long as I cause no trouble. They will not kill her. Her sister is to be his consort. But if I do not do my duty, as they see it - if I do not cooperate with their version of events again, both in public and private - they will marry her to someone else. As he is a widower now, most likely to my father."

A soft exhaled breath escaped the priest's lips.

"I am sorry, sir," Lucius said colourlessly. "You are here to train me, not to...'

He forced his voice silent, before it could crack. An arm slipped around his shoulders. He smelled coffee again, and felt the cup tilt at his lips. He swallowed automatically, and again. Silva set the mug aside. Lucius opened his mouth and accepted the offered piece of roll. He chewed, eyes fixed on the thick, green wall of foliage facing him. Silva said nothing, just offered him the rest of the roll piece by piece, and the interspersed sips of coffee.

" _Bueno_ ," he said quietly when the mug was empty. A cool thumb brushed the corner of Lucius' taut mouth, brushing away a drop of coffee. "You are a good boy, Luis. Together, we will make of you the finest of men."

The fragrant breeze moved across the steps. Lucius stood, retrieving his broomstick. With his shorn hair, his features did not look so much elegant and refined as angular and drawn: both harsh and ethereally beautiful.

"Carriera has invited me home for the holidays," he said.

"You will enjoy his family. I will make the arrangements with your father."

"You misunderstand me, sir," Lucius said. "I wish to stay here. At the castle. I do not want to hurt his feelings, but..." This time his voice did crack.

"The extra time to study will do you well," Silva conceded. "As time is so short." He too stood, and glanced around quickly.

"Take my hand," he commanded. "Now."

Startled, Lucius obeyed immediately. There was a quick rush, the deep, sweet sound of bells reverberating through every cell of his body, and then...

He staggered. Silva caught him neatly. They were back in the half-finished tree-house.

"What..."

"Your aversion to apparating is incurable," the priest said. "Sadly. I confess, it is not my favourite mode of travel either. God is good, _sim_ ?" He beckoned him out the door of the tree-house and onto the small deck. Lucius followed curiously - and lunged forward with a horrified shout as the priest vaulted lightly over the railing, twisting so that he faced the young man as he plunged straight down through the canopy, arms stretched wide. The shout turned into an awestruck gasp, half-caught in his throat as Silva blurred and soared up again - and then, then the young Englishman could do nothing but stare in speechless, abject awe as before him hovered a vision such as he had never seen before - never even _imagined_ before - a magnificent pitch-black phoenix with dancing golden eyes and wings that spanned a full ten feet. Its high, spiraled crest and exquisite swooping tail, near as long again  as the span of the wings, were not golden again as in the photos, but lit from within as hot black coal, radiating ruby and garnet and shimmering blue waves of heat... A round collar of tiny, delicate snowy-white feathers encircled its long, graceful neck. Lucius Malfoy's own eyes were huge, and his face, had he been able to see it, wondering as a child's. The phoenix let a long, musical croon in a near-minor key, and then Silva was standing beside him again, smiling as the young man blinked at him as if coming out of a dream.

"What..." he stammered. "How... It is _impossible_ ; it is not _possible_ ! _How_?"

The priest reached up and cupped the back of his shorn head with both hands, pulling it down and kissing his cheeks, eyes and forehead lightly.

"I have no answers," Antonio Silva said. "But I must trust you now, Luis, as you are trusting me. There are only two others alive who know: Ramone and Professora Hernandez. And it must stay that way, _sim_?"

"But... What do you do if people... I mean..."

The priest  blurred, and shifted into the form of a giant black panther.

"You have _two_ Animagus forms?!" Lucius held his head as if it would literally fly off.

" _Nao_. This one is an extremely advanced glamour." Silva reverted abruptly. "I do not use it often. Only often enough for others to occasionally witness and report, in association with my name."

"I have never heard of a black phoenix before in my life," Lucius said. "In all of my studies. Well." He grinned briefly as he followed the man back inside the tree-house, in remembrance of his first hours at Hogwarts. "Once."

"It is likely a reflection of my religious order, the Jesuits. Black is the only colour we are permitted to wear. And there is a story there," the priest observed. He went to the corner and retrieved a large kit of Nomaji tools, extracting several and stuffing them into his belt. "Perhaps you will tell me, while we work?"

"It does not reflect well on me, I am afraid."

" _Nao_? All the more reason to share it."

Lucius sighed. Silva listened as he talked, Summoning bits and pieces of this and that from the forest as the five year history of ThatCrazyBitch Black and AllBallsNoBrains Malfoy unfolded.

"And this is the woman whom your master has chosen as his consort?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Mm. This we can work with."

"We can?"

" _Sim."_ He hummed to himself as he flexed his legs and hoisted himself up, sitting astride a branch of the tree above the house itself as he wove and spun various types of vines through the framework of what would be the roof. "It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that any man with a true shrew for a woman will be in need of commiserative comfort. And you are marrying the shrew's sister, and will thus be the appropriate candidate."  

"Niss is not a shrew!" Lucius protested as he settled down cross-legged amidst a mass of giant, extremely sticky and pink odoriferous leaves and began to hollow out with a small Nomaj jack-knife (for no other apparent reason besides the fact that it seemed to entertain his mentor to hear him gag in Accented Upper-Class English ) the broken-off, oozing stems. "So what is there to commiserate on? And Bellatrix may be insane, but she is not stupid. He doesn't just want her for her dubious charms and social standing; she's brilliant, and sees patterns in things like I do. Well, not exactly like I do, but..."

"Hate and pride blind women as thoroughly as they do men, my fine young Englishman," Silva said dryly. "Would you say that your master loves this woman of his?"

"I do not know. I have never seen them together. She embodies the key element of the perfect solutions to all of his long-term plans, though; I know that much. Whatever distaste he may have for her erratic behaviour - and from what I have heard of him, he does not approve of erratic behaviour unless he is directing it or partaking directly - is balanced by the strategic advantages she provides him as the eldest daughter of House Black."

"So she is to be his left hand as you are to be his right?"

"If he decides upon meeting me properly that I suit, yes. Right now, I am potential, not actuality. Probable potential, but..."

Silva regarded him thoughtfully through the rafters again.

"We will begin at the beginning," he said. "With the players. Tell me, young Malfoy, exactly and everything of what you know of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"You know his name?" Lucius' own hands paused as he looked up. The priest smiled down at him.

" _Sim,_ of course. Inez - Professora Hernandez  - has met him."

"I beg your _pardon_?"  

"They were in the same year when she traveled to Hogwarts from Castelobruxo in our sixth year, on exchange. He paid little attention to her at first; he was in your House, Slytherin, and she was a Nomaji-born and placed in Ravenclaw, but that changed quickly enough."

"Oh," Lucius said blankly. "What did _she_ think of him? I mean... _Did_ she think anything of him?"

"A great deal, none of it positive. He had heard a rumour that they taught the students to become Animagi in South America, and wished to know why. He was quite relentless on the subject, she told me, quite past the point of irritating."

Lucius' eyebrows raised. "She did not tell him the truth, did she?"

" _Nao,_ of course not. She told him nothing of anything. She disliked him greatly as I said, not the least for the reason that he could not keep his eyes off of everything of her _but_ her eyes, and on the occasions that he tried to trap her with public inquiries, she simply said that it provided an easier and safer way to traverse the rainforests and jungle. He asked her if she had managed the Change, and if so, what her form was. She informed him that where she came from, that was not a question one asked someone whom one did not consider a friend. He attempted to apologize, for his own ends, obviously, but she was not inclined to accept. He then made a rather poor and awkward attempt at seducing her, to which she responded by laughing loudly in his face."

Lucius nearly choked, and not on the smell of the leaves. "Riddle propositioned Professor _Hernandez_?"

"She was quite the most beautiful girl in the school. In any school."

"Is she married?" he ventured. "Is it rude to inquire?"

"Not at all. _Nao_. She is not. We two thought on it - planned on it - at one time, but it was not God's will." It was very matter-of-fact. "I myself did not Change till several years after we were graduated. My teachers were not concerned when it did not happen; there was obviously something there, but it was slow-blooming. It happens sometimes, and I was magically strong, with many ways to defend myself, so they said to leave it to God's good time and to be careful in the meantime. When I did transform the first time, Inez was with me. I was very ill for several days beforehand, of a parasite, she thought, because my fever became so very high. She cared for me as best she could, and when the fever broke, it was because I transformed and burned. She was quite surprised. We both were."

Lucius snorted. Silva just laughed softly.

"As I said. Once I recovered, we discussed it, and prayed on it together. We had been not just together or discussing it. I had proposed.  Before we could announce the bans, though, the fever began. Afterwards.. We talked. It was difficult. We truly loved each other. But Inez said that we could not deny that God was telling us He had different plans for us." His hands moved smoothly as he talked. "I argued. But then, she told me of something that I had not known before that day, and I could not argue any longer. I tried..." He smiled briefly, and not a little wistfully. "But she is as stubborn as she is beautiful, and that... That is saying something, _sim_ ? She kissed me, and took me by the hand, and led me to the seminary in Sao Paulo, and said to my superior, 'I am giving to God the man I thought He had sent to be my husband, that I will love all the days of my life. You will tell Him, please and thank you, that there had best be a miracle coming from this, or He _will_ be answering to me when the Long Night is over for insisting I permit my Antonio to father every child of South America but the ones we will never raise together.' And now... Now we are here again, Inez and I, here at Castelobruxo once more, and God has been so good to us both, _sim_? We cannot be together as a man and his woman, nor married, but we do have our children after all. Every child of the continent, and we raise them  and teach them and love them and send them out in the world: frightened together for them as parents are, to be both blessing and strength to each other and everyone they meet."

Lucius looked down at his pink, sap-stained hands.

"I will not tell anyone," he said. "I swear it, sir. I would like to remember while I am here, but when I return... If it would be safer to obliviate me, I will understand."

"We will see. Much may change in so short a time. You will see one such change already when we return to the castle as a result of your humbling of yourself, young Malfoy. God can be hard, but He is kind too."

"How do you mean?"

"You will wait and see. Now." He patted the branch that he was straddling. "Come. Up. I will show you now how we set the roof in place with all of your beautiful bright leaves. They make excellent tiles, you will see, and if the pattern is right, the light shining through will make the whole house glow as if with stained glass!"

Several hours later, filthy, weary and exhausted again, Lucius dragged himself to the dining room.  Ramone shot to his feet immediately, pulling out his chair. He dropped down, head falling forward and thudding on the table.

" _E ai_? Are you alright?" his room-mate asked solicitously.

"No. And for the record, I think we may assume on the standard answer for the rest of the term,  so I will assume on your daily concern as a given, and save us both breath."

"As you wish." Even given his nature, he seemed quite unusually perky... Lucius turned his head to look at him, not moving it from the table top.

"You are very cheerful this morning," he observed. "Dare I ask?"

"Yes," Ramone said happily. "I received two pieces of very good news when I awoke. The first..." He placed a parchment envelope in front of his nose. Lucius pushed himself up and examined it.

"Niss wrote to you? Really?"

"She did. And she sent me a gift too, and said that we are friends now, and there is a note for you to go with it; it is inside, see, I will..." He flipped the envelope open as two figures approached the table.

" _Bom dia_ , _Senhor_ Malfoy," Inez Hernandez greeted him. "And how was the jungle this morning?"

"Good morning, Professor," Malfoy said. Silva seated himself, charmed him briskly clean, and began to prepare a plate. "I met a spider. We were sharing a pile of leaves. It offered me a kiss."

"Very nice. And what did you think?"

"It was as big as my head. There was not a great deal of thinking occurring in the given moment."

Silva laughed as he held up two pitchers. Lucius nodded to the one containing guava juice. Ramone gagged rudely. Hernandez tweaked his ear.

"My office, _Senhor_ Carriera," she directed. "Eight tonight."

" _Sim,_ Professora Hernandez," he said happily again. She waved and headed back to the table. "That is my second piece of good news, Luz. There was a note on my table this morning from the Headmistress, stating that now that Father Silva has accepted you as one of his students, there is an opening in Professora Hernandez' student lists, and that I am to be transferred to her!"

"Truly?" Lucius sat up in delight. "That is wonderful!"

"It is. She is very nice, and very protective of her students too. Since she has no children of her own, she is very involved, heh?"

Lucius glanced at Silva at that. He said nothing, just peeled and sliced a hard-boiled egg, setting it on the prepared plate.

"Who was your advisor before?" he asked.

"He was the Arithmancy professor. The one who left because of the howler monkeys."

"He has been gone for two weeks!"

Ramone waved him off, chattering away. Silva wiped his fingers on the napkin and caught Lucius' eye, nodding to the chair beside him. Despite his pleasure for his friend, his stomach twisted and knotted. He closed his eyes tightly, fist clenching under the table. A sudden vision of his mother's face appeared behind his darkened lids, and an overwhelming desolate wave of grief, clamped immediately.

_Be brave, my lovely._

He shoved his chair back and stood. Ramone's flow of words stopped immediately. The eyes swiveled in gleeful anticipation.

Lucius came around the table. When he reached Silva's side, the priest turned his chair slightly, pulling out the second and angling it to face him. Lucius lowered himself carefully, right hand on his knee, and left clutching the side of the seat. His knuckles were white and tense.

" _Bueno_ ," the priest said, and in a murmur that reached only the pale young man's ears... "No tears now, my fine young Englishman. Their tendency to take undue satisfaction in others' pain is as bad for their souls as pride is for yours."

Lucius Malfoy closed his eyes tightly.

 _My mother is lost_.

Soft, cool fingers touched his chin, lifting it.

"You have cut off all your hair, _Senhor_ Malfoy. May I ask what prompted it?"

_My mother is lost._

"My dignity is, obviously, yet at large, sir," Lucius drawled. "After my collision with the door. I thought it might be easier to spot and recover should I not have the other so constantly in my face, never mind Carriera's warty little arse."

Antonio Silva roared. Carriera sprayed coffee everywhere. Sniggers ran around the room, and jeers, but a high clear, genuinely tickled giggle too, surprised from one of the tables of younger-yeared students. Lucius steeled himself as the priest retrieved the cup of coffee he'd prepared and held it to his lips. Silence fell again. He drank carefully.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

" _Obrigado_ ," the priest corrected as he dabbed at his lips with a napkin.

" _Obrigado_ ," Lucius repeated.

" _Nao ha de que_. You are most welcome."

When Ramone returned that evening, his room-mate was already in bed, lying on his back and tracing the face of the girl in the photo on his night table. Lucius set it on the table as the other young man closed and locked the door, and rolled on his side to face him.

"So?" he asked. "How did it go?"

"Very well." Ramone shoveled himself onto his own bed, folding his long thin legs up as his fingers twisted in his lap. " _Tio_ Antonio was there too. He told us both the truth about your mama."

Lucius said nothing.

"I do not want to send you home," Ramone said desolately. "Whatever awaits you there... It yet seems safer here, with me."

"You said you had a note for me, from Niss?"

"Yes." He reached in his satchel. " _Desculpe-me_ ; I would have given it to you earlier, but I was distracted. No one threw one hex at me all day!"

"I am sure that Professor Hernandez was delighted." Lucius sat up and caught the letter tossed, unsealing the parchment and unfolding it. His small smile faded to a blatantly shocked expression as he read the words.

"Luz?" Ramone sat up, alarmed. "What is it?"

"Carriera," he said, not removing his eyes from the letter. "What, exactly, did Narcissa send you as a gift?"

"Uh? Oh." He pushed his sleeve up. "A bracelet. It is so beautiful, see? She said that her sister gave it to her, and now she is giving it to me, because..." He jumped as the silver bangle, shaped like a snake, suddenly slithered off his wrist and shot the distance between their beds, nuzzling into Lucius' neck and licking his cheek affectionately. Lucius caught it up and stared at it, and at the parchment again.

**_My lovely -_ **

**_I was quite charmed by Mr. Carriera's letter(s) of self-introduction, and am much reassured by your own accounts of your immediate mutual friendship. It seems to me, under the current unanticipated and difficult circumstances, that, in my absence, you may be in need of the comfort that such an amiable companion may provide you. I have, therefore, sent him a small token of my appreciation of_ ** **his** **_appreciation of you. You may inform him of the significance there_ ** **_as you are inclined_ ** **_. I only suggest that you consider it._ **

**_This is not a test, Luke. You matter. What you want matters. What you_ ** **_need_ ** **_matters, and again, under the unanticipated and difficult circumstances, these are not lessons that I feel can afford to be put on hold. As I have promised to take care of you... I will do so. The choice is yours, always yours, but if you are reluctant because you are worried on hurting me - I am likely to be reassured by regular and _ ** **detailed** **_reports. Said reports may be sent via my appointed student advisor: one Namirembe Obonyo. She is a lovely woman, and has reassured me that she will be happy to deliver to me (unread) sealed missives sent to her and received from one Mr. Carriera of Castelobruxo, in order to avoid unfortunate interception of content between the two of us. I do believe you would enjoy her company greatly; she is an absolutely astonishing duelist, and I have no doubt whatsoever that she will be competing for her Grandmastery one day._ **

**_I retract, by the way, my instruction to be brave. Every. Single. Resident. Of. This. School is_ ** **a born Gryffindor, not** **_excluding Nami (that is, Professor Obonyo)_ ** **.** **_The story goes that she killed two Nundus when she was fifteen_ ** **,** **_and when I asked her how she did it (because I am not inclined toward skepticism there; trust me, one day when you meet her, you WILL understand), SHE SAID THAT SHE DROPPED A MOUNTAIN ON THEM. I said "oh, are there mountains near the village where you were born then,' and all she said was 'There was one. There isn't now, BECAUSE I BROKE IT WHEN I DROPPED IT ON THE NUNDUS_ ** **.** **_I am_ ** **aghast** **_, Lucius. Truly. Only the thought of the expression of dismay on Mother's face should she realize the company I am keeping this year is keeping me sane. Almost as sane as the thought of the expression on Abraxas' face when he realizes that we plan to invite this woman to be godmother to our children. Salazar's suspenders, that WILL be a sight to remember. The memory may very well fuel my Patronus for the rest of my life._ **

**_Be happy. Bugger the sods, Luke, and be _ ** **happy** **.**

**_Your_ **

**_Niss_ **

"That is wonderful!" Ramone said in delight as the silver snake slithered back to his wrist. "It is an Animus charm?"

"A specifically adapted one," Lucius said. "Yes. Her sister is quite skilled. You have written her more than the one letter?"

" _Sim_. Three. I did not think you would mind, it is just that I have never had anyone to write to before besides Pablo, not another Magical my age, anyway, and I am very interested in Uagadou besides. It is the only other school besides Castelobruxo that teaches self-transfiguration, and wandless magic too? I am sure that Hogwarts is lovely, but if I were in a position to travel via ISEP, I would have preferred Uganda. I will be happy to show you our correspondence, there is nothing untoward there, I promise; I have kept to my manners, but she is telling me of her courses, and the traditions there, and..."

Lucius waved him off. "It is quite alright," he said, and running his hand over his shorn head... "Nothing untoward at all?"

"No. Well... No. I told her that you were very faithful to her, and none of the girls here who make eyes at you have drawn so much as your notice, much less your attention. I had thought, maybe, that she would like the reassurance. And she was very pleased to hear it, she said, though she had no worries at all, and asked me if I had an angel, and I said no; angels are not mere princesses and do not like to kiss frogs, and my preferred variety of angel is not of the kind that is accepted by tradition here in Brazil anyw..."

He stopped abruptly. Lucius lowered the letter and surveyed him closely.

"You were not joking then," he said. "When you kissed me?

Ramone flushed violently and hunched his shoulders, looking down at his fingers again. Lucius thought hard.

"Father Silva said that you invite everyone to your bed, but I have never actually seen you approach any boys," he said slowly. "Only the girls."

"It would not go over well," Carriera muttered. "It is not accepted here. At all."

"But you said..."

"You are English. I had read..." He trailed off. "It is different there. _Tio_ knows I read. He knows me. He would worry."

"Not so different," Lucius said. "Discretion is yet..." He shook his head, bemused. "Carriera, you had just _met_ me! Were you not afraid I would say something to someone?"

"No. My wand tells me when I can trust someone."

"Your... _What_?"

"My wand. I left it on the table, the day you came. It is ... It is different. I told you. It watched you. When you were here, alone. I knew you would be brought here and left it here, so it could watch you a little, in private. When I came in, it told me you would be a good friend. In the way that it has. That we have."

"Oh." He eyed the wand on the table, remembering Silva's words of warning in the library. "Well... You need not worry. I will not tell anyone. Though... You may want to refrain on making note of appreciation on my own wand in the future, in the dining hall."

"Uh?" Ramone's nose wrinkled. " _Oh_. That. No, you need not worry. My wand, it makes sure they do not hear such things as I intend them."

"Is it intelligent?"

"That would depend on how one defines intelligence. And it is a dangerous question besides, Malfoy-from-England, that leads to more of the same. Do you prefer the facts, or the truth?"

"The truth," Malfoy-from-England said. "Always."

The bright little room was quiet.

"I will tell you, then," Ramone said. "Tomorrow. I." He stopped. "I am not brave. Not like you. I must pray to be brave, first."

"You need not tell me anything, Ramone. It is your choice. I will..."

He looked down at the letter in his hand, and making an abrupt decision, shoved it over. Ramone offered him an odd look, then took it and read it. Slowly. Three times.

"Ah," he said. "Well." He rubbed his cheek. "I must think on this."

"I am not suggesting anything," Lucius said. "I am not..."

" _Do_ you like men?" he asked directly. Lucius shrugged.

"I like Narcissa," he said. "I have never thought much on anyone else, ever.  I am hers and she is mine, and insofar as there may be a God, if He exists, I believe that He made us for each other."

"Much, or not at all?"

Lucius slid back on the bed, crossing his legs.

"I am like you," he said finally. "I do not have many friends. Any friends, really. Many who think they are, but the individuals who are deemed suitable for me to associate with... We are not alike. They do not realize it. They think that I am like them. That I think the same way that they do. The way that we all were raised to think. And in some ways... I do. But I think differently too. I am able to see everything  - every situation - from different angles. As through many sets of eyes all looking at the same object, or situation, from different perspectives. It is very difficult to do that and to maintain, as do those people I grew up with again, that there is only one right way of looking at the world - theirs - because in the end, from my experience, perspective in and of itself and by definition is  neither right nor wrong. It is simply an issue of where you are standing, and whose eyes you are looking through. It is not a question of interpreted morality, it is a question of personal experience."

Ramone listened silently.

"I see facts," Lucius continued. "Through my eyes. All of my eyes. I see the threads of events, past and present, and possible futures, that have, and do, and will connect them. They cross, they turn... Sometimes they lead to new paths. But they all lead to one thing, in the end. Or from one thing. To, or from  - or perhaps to _and_ from - that which, as I understand now, has nothing to _do_ with facts. That which fact can only facilitate, reveal, or obscure, but never ultimately define. Truth.  I have always known this, I think. In my heart. But I have never really..." He paused, searching for words. " I was raised in a certain manner, to follow one series of facts that validate the single perspective. But because I can see other perspectives and paths that the others around me, who were raised around me cannot... Because I have the ability to see , and have the experience _in_ seeing, those paths... I am able to see that the path and perspective I am supposed to advocate, with the facts I have been taught along the way, will lead me to only to a dead end, not to any new paths, nor to the center of things. So this  can only lead me to the conclusion that that perspective is a faulty perspective, because the _facts_ that supposedly are revealed along that path do not lead to _truth."_

He was thoughtful, his brow furrowed.

"And how does this relate to the context we are discussing now?" Ramone asked.

"In context... I came here knowing one true thing. I love Narcissa. That that is not just fact, or my truth, but _the_ truth. It is the truth at the center of _me_ . Of all paths presented me, of all facts that lead away, and back. And I have never loved anyone but her, so my perspective has been that as she has been the only one I was truly attracted to, and because she is a woman, I have assumed I am only attracted to women. That again, is not the truth though. It can have nothing to do with the fact that she is a woman, because _you_ are not a woman. You are a man. That means that my attraction to both of you lies not in the fact of your genders- that you are female and male - but  in the deeper _truth_ that you are Narcissa and Ramone. So... I would say that no, I am not attracted to men. But  I am attracted to you."

There was an abject silence from the other bed. Lucius lifted his eyes, rising from the depths of his concentrated and meticulous processes of deductive thought.

"You say it as if it has been - is - a given for you," Ramone said, not looking at him. "That being attracted to me was a conclusion you had already reached."

"Well, yes," Lucius said, surprised. "I concluded that the first hour I met you, Carriera, when you kissed me. I simply have not thought on it again till now, because till now, again, it has not been, as I told you then,  relevant."

"Uh?"

"There are things you think on regardless, simply because the options _are_ intriguing to think about, and things you do not. It is as I told Niss again, before the first time we made love. Sometimes it was easier not to ..." He gestured. "Simply for the fact that it was so difficult to stop. I had always known it would be her decision to continue, rather than mine, so I simply left it in her hands and concentrated on other things. It has been like that with you. Now that she has made the context relevant for me, if not you - and in my mind, it _is_ your decision, not mine -"

"Why?" he said abruptly. "Why is it my decision and not yours?"

The silence grew delicate.

"Because now that we have determined that I am comfortable with the idea of the proposed applied context... That is how I would prefer it," Lucius said. Carriera's brows wrinkled at him.

"Uh?"

"I take care of everything else," he translated. "Everything around me. It is how I am. In private..." He lifted a shoulder.

The young Brazilian's eyes widened.

"Oh," he said. He furrowed again. " _Oh._ You do not find it embarrassing to admit that?"

"No. It is not something I advertise, but I do not consider it a weakness. It is simply the way I am. Or... what I have assumed I am," he corrected himself carefully. "Based on my experience to this point."

"But you would not agree, simply because your angel told you she is fine with it?" he probed.

"No. As she is constantly telling me... My opinion - what I want - matters. Correlatively... In this context again... What _you_ want matters. My attraction to you, and her acknowledgement of the possibilities, in absolutely, absolutely _no_ way, whatsoever, however, _when_ ever, renders _any_ obligation to you. Ever. As far as I am concerned, the subject is closed until, or unless, _you_ bring it up again."

Ramone pulled his socked and slippered feet up.

"It is interesting," he observed. "That you tell me this, and are so free of embarrassment, yet have such difficulty with the thought of _Tio_ Antonio's methods."

"What does the one have to do with the other, exactly?"

"Exactly everything, when one takes sex out of the photo, heh? He is asking you to permit him to take care of you. To guide you. For you to submit to him and his will."

"In public!"

"And will you always be permitted to serve quietly? In private, by a tactful angel, so that your dignity is preserved and no one sees your discomfort?"

"Narcissa does not discomfit me."

"And that is my point, heh? Narcissa loves you. Lethifolds do not love. They cannot. They, and love, are antithetical. Whatever awaits you- it will seek your submission in a far more painful and embarrassing context than _Tio_ would ever stoop to. It does not mean he will not teach you the thorough lessons, it simply means that he is attempting to remove from you a crucial weakness that could be used to break you before anyone is provided with the opportunity to employ it against you - and can you deny, even now, Luz, the truth I know that you do know - that, like Narcissa again, and myself, he wishes only the best for you? And Professor Hernandez too, because she is protective, and would never, never agree to release you to _Tio_ 's care in this manner unless she felt it was God's will?"

"It is just..." His shoulders tightened. "Difficult."

" _Tio_ would not do this unless it was - is - truly necessary, Luz. He is not a sadist, and he does nothing - _nothing_ \- without purpose. And he does not shame. If he felt you needed shaming, he would do that in private, and the warning would come first, in the context of 'perhaps you would like to discuss this with Jesus?' Let me tell you, heh, those words from him strike terror into the hearts of everyone from the youngest of the first years to the Headmistress herself."

"It did not stop them from being arseholes yesterday. Or today, for that matter. Or have they decided to step up as his assistants in teaching me to control my temper?"

"No," Ramone admitted. "No. I am afraid that they are simply using his rules for you to rationalize their inherent ... What would you call it... Arseholery. Also," he added. "They, too, all want to have sex with you. You are not being co-operative. They are resentful."

"I beg your _pardon_?"

"They offer us vital lessons here on identifying and accepting and embracing our base animal instincts, Luz, from the moment we arrive as eleven-year-olds. There are side-effects." He paused, abruptly. "You and your angel... You said that you have made love to her? Not just kissed, or... But actually..."

Lucius flushed.

"Yes," he said. "Many times."

Ramone nodded, and rolled himself up again. After a moment, the sausage of blankets collapsed, and he herded himself under his pillow again. Lucius pulled his own blankets over his shoulders and rolled on his side. The next morning, he made his way to the west steps, waiting in silence in the stark, relentless light. Silva was, perhaps, twenty minutes late. When he arrived, he sat beside him, unwrapped a cheese bun from a napkin, and broke it into pieces. After only two or three bites, though, Lucius shook his head, pulling his knees up and resting his forehead on his arms.

"I am sorry," he said. "I cannot. It is not... I just... Cannot."

Silva rubbed his back gently. There was the echo of bells, the deep reverberating music, and they were back at the tree-house. Lucius looked about. Finished, it was an exquisite work of art of woven vine and flower. The curtains of carnivorous sword vines were gone. In their place - everywhere, on all the sills -  were vases filled with tall sprays of exquisite flowers: ivory and white and gold flowers that shimmered and sang in the constant small and humid breezes that flickered through the dense canopy.

"What..."

"They are Amazonian bell orchids," a voice said. Lucius turned as Inez Hernandez stepped in from the outer deck. She was dressed in mottled green and copper robes: formal and flowing and trimmed in black, and her small, plump feet were bare.  Flat-footed, the top of her head barely reached the young man's collarbones. She came to stand before him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and stood on her toes to kiss his cheeks softly.  "We have many traditions surrounding them here in Brazil, one of which is that we bring them at the birth of a new child, to sing the child to rest so that his mother too may rest."

"My mother is dead," Lucius told her. It was harsh and desolate both.

"Yes," Inez Hernandez said gently. "This is true. I am so, so sorry, _Senhor_ Malfoy."

And Lucius crumpled to the floor of the tree-house, screaming in his grief. The room, out of the corner of his blurred, agonized eyes, seemed to expand. He was suddenly surrounded, supported and cradled by massive, smooth and mottled green and coppery coils. The sound of music was everywhere. Silva crouched beside him and touched his cheek.  A wave of fatigue, so strong it was nauseating, washed over him.

"Sleep," the priest said to him. "Inez will guard you. I will be back by sunset."

"Where..."

"A far flight, over roads that are not yet yours to travel. I will return, I promise. In the meantime... Sleep."

"Carriera will worry. Your classes..."

"All is accounted for. Obey me now, my fine young Englishman."

Lucius closed his eyes and obeyed. When he woke again, Professor Hernandez was moving quietly about, casting light and anti-shadow charms all around. He lay on the pallet that she had transfigured beneath him from one of the orchids and watched her. She turned and came to sit beside him on the floor. In her hand was a tall glass of chilled papaya juice. She helped him sit, then to drink: sip by slow sip. When he was almost finished, there was a great rush of wind from without, and the sprays of orchids crashed in their charmed vases from the sills onto the floor. The soft chimes silenced abruptly.  Lucius scrambled up, alarmed by the look of grey, tightly controlled fear on Antonio Silva's face as he appeared in the door of the tree-house. The small woman was at his side immediately.

"Antonio? _O que aconteceu_?"

"There has been an incident at the school,"  the priest said to her without preamble. "Take my hands, both of you, now."

Inez Hernandez swore vividly as she obeyed. Lucius stood, frozen. "How bad?"

"He is alive. Barely. He fell down the north steps, from top to bottom. The Headmistress says it was an accident, but it  was not an accident. If it had been, he would have Changed automatically when he fell, and he did not. That can mean only one thing; someone slipped a repressant into his coffee at his last meal."

The Transfiguration Mistress said nothing more, just seized Lucius' unresisting hand in hers. There was the reverberating echo of bells, and another great rush of wings, and the tree-house was empty.

 


	7. Wednesday Morning (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! There are some rough and unpleasant bits coming up in the next couple. Keep an eye on the tags for spoilers as they go up, and there will be appropriate trigger warnings at the top of each chapter.
> 
> xoxoxo ,  
> BlueMaple

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**The Hospital Wing**

**Wednesday, November 26th ~ 11.30 A.M.**

 

"And... There... We... Go." Ren etched the last rune with an economic flourish. "All done. Up you get."

"That's it?" Jacia 'Jax'  King raised her fingers to her cheek and boosted herself up to a sitting position as the Warder transfigured the examination table back into her hospital bed. "It didn't hurt at all!"

"Don't tell me you're disappointed? No. Wait. Don't answer that." Ren passed her a mirror. "Here. Check out your fantastically gorgeous self instead."

"And you a married man." The girl tsked at him, but accepted the mirror. Her face was as perfect as it ever had been, save for the intricate series of interlocked glowing silver runes now scribed around what had been the parameters of her injuries. "Mm. Very nice. Good job, Master-Adept. You ever need a reference, let me know."

"Thanks. And no, it didn't hurt; the inks are all on the surface now, but they'll start itching like fury tonight as the runes sink in and bond with the first set we did, so don't be shy on taking the potions Madame Pomfrey brings your way."

"Can I scratch?"

"No. You may not." The reborn wizard transfigured the operating stool back to the comfortable bedside chair and settled himself. "So how are you, really?"

"Bored stupid. I know you said I have to stay in quarantine to minimize the risk of infection till the final layers are set, but still. Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored_."

"Mm. Maybe this will help?" Ren dug in his pocket and offered her a crystal cube. "Saturday's duel. I rigged the stadium from several angles, and Professor Flitwick spent a little time merging the perspectives into the single show for me. Or rather, you. Now you too can see my award-winning performance!"

"Eeeeeeeeeeeee!" She squealed and grabbed. "Gimme gimme gimme! Is the kiss on it?"

"Sorry?"

"The _kiss_ ! The one Luscious Malfoy laid on you! Hot as bloody sin that bloke; I'd  polyjuice every last inch of me for the opportunity _there_ , and will too, if you're having adulterous qualms. It's the least I can do to thank you; just give me a bit of hair and I'll be good to go. All night long. Mm- _mm!"_

Ren snorted with laughter.

"And on that note," he said, tucking his wands into their holsters. "I'm going to attempt my furtive escape."

"Too late," a deep voice informed him.

 _"Oooh!_ Someone's in troub-le!" Jax sing-songed. Ren threw a pillow at her. The Headmaster pushed the sterile hangings back and ducked through, popping his ears in friendly greeting at the girl sitting on the bed as he passed off a huge basket of chocolate frogs done up in green and silver ribbons charmed as tiny, frilly snakes.

"From the family," he told her. "They passed the hat, and send their love along with. Hello, Lawrence. It's so nice to see you again, and my, but that's a lovely wedding ring you're wearing! Is it new?"

"Hey Gramps," Ren said in his meekest tone. Jax grinned at him.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to get married without you. It just..." He waved vaguely.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time?" Neil supplied, perching on the end of the bed. He wore no robes, only the canvas trousers and denim shirt he wore when working the greenhouses, and his knees, boots and fingernails all looked a little worse for wear... The former Harry Potter winced. There was only one reason that Augusta-Domitia-Claudia-Dame-Lady-Longbottom's Master Herbologist of a Headmaster of a  grandson would present himself in public without charming the dirt off of himself first, and that was because he was just too damned annoyed with the individual he was about to present himself _to_ to care.

"Erhm. Yes. It did, actually."

"I understand." The deep baritone was alarmingly soothing and pleasant. "I'm completely devastated to have missed the occasion, of course, and you still owe me for all the arse-covering I've been doing for you, but I _do_ understand. And speaking of arse-covering... How was the wedding night?"

"Nice, Gramps. Also, you are the _Headmaster_ ! And there is a _student_ right _here_!"

"Ah, but I'm not your student, am I?  Come on!" Jax coaxed. "Tell us! Inquiring Slytherins want to know, and not just on the personal prurient basis either. The other Houses will offer us obscene amounts of money for every detail we can get out of you."

"Isn't that nice. Would I get a cut of the profits, at least?'

"You're a Hufflepuff, Master-Adept Weasley-Cartwright.  Aren't you lot supposed to be above that sort of thing? Though I'm sure we could work something out." She reached into the basket and waved a packaged frog at him. "Special edition treacle tart! Mm. Treacle tar... Wait, are these _all_ special editions? Aw. Don't I feel loved! What else have we got here? Peanut butter and raspberry chunk, dark toffee ripple, cinnamon spice, citrus supreme... Ooh. White chocolate and _marmalade_? Headmaster?" She held it out invitingly.

"You are as thoughtful and gracious are you are clever and ambitious, Miss King. Ten points to Slytherin for just being you.  I only want you to be happy," Neil said piously to Ren as he accepted and unwrapped Jax's offering. "Tell me, when do I get to meet the little woman in pers... Oh wait. That's right. You're bent now! That's new too! New Mastery, new career, new orientation, _and_ a new  husband? All on top of saving the world and the invite to father another couple's children? You _have_ had a busy week, haven't you? Such a pity you didn't feel inclined to invite your grandfather to the celebratory party, but... Ah well.  I only raised you; I don't suppose that I, of all people, was actually entitled to be there." He popped a bit of chocolate in his mouth. "Cousin Augusta is very pleased for you, by the way. Surprised, but pleased. Mostly surprised, though. Yet another thing we have in common!"

"Oh for..."

The Neil-formerly-known-as-Neville just grinned at him toothily.  Ren rolled his eyes at him and, as he rose to his feet, grabbed his satchel and wiggled his fingers at the smirking patient... She wiggled her fingers back at him, the silvery green ribbons hissing at him mockingly from where they were now weaving themselves through her hair. Ren crossed his eyes at them too,  following Neil into the deserted hall outside the ward and yelping as a huge half-paw swatted his head. Hard.

"OW! What the..." He rubbed his ear as a  Muffliato charm buzzed around them.

"Suck it up," the Headmaster said unsympathetically. "I'm sure Charlie will appreciate your practiced efforts there. In the meantime, I have one word for you. Eu _lalia_."

Ren winced.

"Mm. That's what she said. I do not care how much she annoys you, Potter; sending her your bloody wedding announcement like that - in front of _everyone_ , where she couldn't even react, much less _cry_ because she isn't supposed to _know_ you - was not _on_ . Do you have any idea, _any_ idea, how much you hurt her?"

"I..." Ren blinked at the fuming man before him, disconcerted. Of all things - _all_ things - that had not been what he'd been expecting to hear.

"Shut it. Yes, she's smug. Yes, she's annoying. Yes, she's self-righteous. Yes, she's a bit of a bint, but she's still your bloody _mother_! In the name of all of the rest of us who also grew up without our mothers, and would pretty damned literally kill for the opportunity to exchange one good bout of screaming sulks in person... Grow the fuck up?"

"Charlie didn't invite _his_ mother!" Ren protested.

"Not my jurisdiction, _and_ not my cross - don't bother pardoning the pun here because it _is_ relevant - to bear. Try again."

"Neville.."

"Don't you 'Neville' me! You _are_ having a do-over of the ceremony at the ball I'm throwing you: a _proper_ do-over, and she _will_ be there, and you _are_ going to dance with her, and oh yes, do not even think, not for one _second,_ not _one_ , Master-Adept, about not inviting her to your investiture on Christmas Eve, _or_ to the Invitationals for that matter. I. AM. _SICK_ . OF. THE. _WHINING_!"

"Hers, or  mine?"

Neil just gave him a disgusted look, bit the head off of his white-chocolate-and-marmalade frog, and strode off down the hall. Ren craned his neck. There was a whuffle from behind him. He turned and sighed. The huge black Grim peeking around the corner emerged, morphing as it did so.

"Has it really been that bad?" Ren asked him, sinking down on a conjured bench. "And are you and Remus  mad at me too?"

"No, no. Well,  yeah, a bit on the mad, but that's what Mind-Healers are for."

"Sirius..."

"All's good. We understand.  And will continue to understand as  long as there's cake and a bit of public kissing at some point to squeal over, anyway." His father sat beside him. "Irish Wolfhounds. They're an emotionally needy breed. What can you do."

"And Mum?"

"She's a bit upset, yeah," Sirius said apologetically. "Quietly so, and that's indicative right _there_ , isn't it?" He pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Snape's doing his best, but there _is_ a difference, pup, between maintaining the chronically difficult relationship with certain members of your family and rejecting them outright. She does understand the circumstances here, but..." He grimaced. "The road to Hell and all, but sometimes you _do_ have to take the fact that someone means well into consideration, yeah?"

Ren was silent. Sirius turned him by the shoulder to face him.

"Half of her being so annoying - most of it, really - is because she's afraid of you," he said gently. "Not of what you can do, but because she _is_ your mother, and she does love you more than anything.  All of this... It's a bit like finding the kid you gave up for adoption as an adult, right, expecting a brilliant sunny and perfect reunion, and meeting him and realizing that he's had a miserable life and blames it all on you.  And what can you say to that, really?" He shook his head at Ren's rebellious glare. "No. She did what she had to do. The only thing she _could_ do. She died, but only because it was the only way you could live, pup. And she's not the one who left you with the Dursleys, is she? That was Dumbledore's doing."

"I'm not mad at her for dying."

"Pull the other one. Everyone who’s ever has a parent die on them is mad at them. It doesn't make you an ungrateful plonker, it just makes you human."

"You're not mad at _your_ parents for dying!"

"Sure I am. I'm mad that they disowned me first so that I couldn't be there and witness the joyous event. Events. There _would_ have been cake, I assure you."

"It's not the same thing."

"Our motives aren't the same, no, but the anger's still real. We don't even want to start in on Remy and how he feels about _his_ father dying. Peacefully, in his bed, and on the night of the full moon? After it was his big mouth that got his kid bitten in the first place, in _his_ bed on another full moon, destroying his associative peace forever? There's a reason our own bed is a transfigured sofa."

"It... Is?" Ren was genuinely taken aback.

"Yeah. Looks like the other, smells like the other, sleeps like the other, but when it comes right down to it... He hasn't slept in the real, original thing since he was four, and it's not because he wasn't able to afford it. His four poster when he as at school here at Hogwarts was originally the hearth-rug; McGonagall transfigured it for him before we all arrived that year after his mum wrote ahead and let her know the problem, and it was always the furthest from the window besides."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"And now you do, and don't bring it up unless you're willing to cope with the fall-out. It's a touchy subject. Now, back to yours. It's long past due, and Neil's right, you do need to resolve it, and for your own sake, not just hers. No, your mum didn't come back to rescue you when you all passed over, but...  I want you to think about something else too, alright?" Sirius reached out to turned Ren's face back firmly as he looked away.  "No, Ren. Look at me. _Listen_ to me. _You're not a kid anymore._ Little Harry _is_ . Was. This little Harry... Your mum came here, from wherever she was, not just to help with the big picture, or to meet you, but so that _he_ could leave the Dursleys! And no, he's not you, but given all your emphasis on balancing of souls and personalities, and that you've all said that he had to effectively be the same person as you, if a bit younger, and if it's all a blur where she was... If you can't see through the Veil to the specifics, mentally and physically, maybe he _is_ a bit you, to her anyway, yeah?"

Ren was silent at that. Sirius waited.

"I get that," his son said finally. "I do. But it's about what came after that, really, isn't it? Yes, I was an adult, but that was only my _mind_ , Padfoot, and the Dursleys didn't know about the switch, did they? And she still didn't check up on me! Snape said that it didn't occur to her to help because she's used to not being able to have any effect, but she's used to looking on anyway, isn't she? And she admitted outright that she didn't even do _that_ much! Why couldn't she have done even that much?" He hunched his shoulders and ran both hands through his hair, then leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and bury his face in his hands as he struggled against the agitated tears... Sirius rubbed his shoulder quietly.

"Maybe she couldn't have done anything even if she'd wanted to," Ren said finally. "Since I was supposed to be thinking I'd just gone back in time and things had to remain exactly the same as they had been from my perspective as a result, but it's not a selfish question, Sirius, or a childish one. It just... _Isn't_ . I'm a parent too, and alright, maybe not a great one or even a good one, but I still know what ... Past the point, you can't help yourself, it's just what parents _do_ ! On instinct! I mean... It's what you're doing right now, isn't it? Checking up on me, and how much practice have _you_ had? So what _was_ she doing instead for those two years while she... Wasn't?"

"I don't know," his father admitted. "It's a valid question though. Why don't you ask her?"

'Uh?"

"Ask her what was she doing in those two years that she wasn't checking up on you."

"Aside from Snape, you mean?"

"Yeah, no." Sirius shook his dark head. "I don't think so.  Part of the deal, Neil told me, was that they stay apart so as not to risk interfering with events in any way that would risk her identity being discovered, or that might influence those events in ways that would confuse your memories of the established past. Her fear aside... If she managed to stay away from you out of respect for what was coming, do you really think that she, or Snape, would have risked it all just for the sake of mixing their bits? My Lils wouldn't have done, and let me tell you, looking back from the adult perspective, she was more of a smug, selfish bint than your mum could ever _imagine_ being. Your mum..." He grimaced. "She's annoying, yeah, but honestly, now that I've had a bit of time to process everything, and her, she just strikes me as being really young. Young and desperate, and very, very aware that her time with you is limited - again - and that she's going to have to leave you _behind_ again, and Voldemort might be a footnote in your world and a painful neo-memory in ours, but to her, he was bloody _last night_ . And now she's here again, and so is he. And so... So are _you_."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but where's all this coming from?" Ren asked, not a little bemused. "I mean, I do appreciate the perspective and insight, but it's all a bit sudden, yeah?"

"Not really. It's about Regulus," his father said bluntly. "He and your mum's souls  balanced each other. I've been thinking about that a lot these last few weeks, and trying to understand her so that I can understand who _he_ was. Who he _really_ was. I spent my life defining him by what I believed him to be, after all. I looked down on him, criticized him, judged him... I just assumed that, as a Black, he didn't have the capability to be anything more than that, and all while I - a Black myself - was making such a point that _I_ wasn't, and couldn't, and _shouldn't_ , be defined by those prejudices myself. And now... Now I find out that the kid died, not for glory or his version of the Greater Good, for the sake of a bloody _house-elf_ ? _Willingly_ ? He tossed himself into a lake of the bloody living dead, not because he wanted to be a hero, but because he _loved_ that little fucker. And I look back... And I think, yeah, I find myself thinking... Of course he did: of _course_ he loved him, of course he loved him _that much_ , because in his whole life, his whole _life_ , Kreacher was the only person who ever truly loved _him_. Unconditionally and perfectly, just the way he was, right from the day he was born."

"Sirius..."

"No. It's true. It's _true_ , pup. I didn't love him. Our parents sure didn't. They couldn't. They were insane, clinically insane, both of them. So at the end..." Sirius leaned back against the wall and pushed his half-loosed tangle of hair out of his eyes again. "He'd go on, you know, Reg would, about ideals and higher purposes and sacrifice and whatnot... But in the end, it's not what it was about, for him. It was about Kreacher loving him again, and him loving Kreacher, and wanting him to live. The rest... He talked a good game, always, but it was all incidental. He wouldn't have actually died for any of it. My Lils would have, mind you, and she did, didn't she, at least half-way? She would have just loved the idea - her and Jamie both would have - of going out in a blaze of glory and being remembered for all time for it. Your mum, though... If she matched Regulus, and Reg was really the way I just described him... She wouldn't have. And didn't. And as she didn't... You have to see that that's not why she came back, either. She came back for the same reason she went out in the first place... To protect you, from the threat come round again."

Ren rubbed his eyes.

"You survived the Dursleys," Sirius said gently. "She knew you would, pup, because you are an adult. So no matter how painful it was for her, and you... She could manage to leave you alone there, upon your request.  Voldemort though... She never saw him die, did she? He killed her before it happened. She _had_ to die before it could happen. And so she never saw it, and that means he's never died at all for her, has he? Really never died, because now he's back again. She's seen him. In person. In her mind... That's what she's here to save you from. Him.  The Dursleys hurt you, but that bugger... He could kill you. He could kill... Everyone. Next to that, next to that war, _her war, the war that she ended...._ The Dursleys just don't have that kind of psychological power over her. In her mind, Ren, it's not your responsibiity to end this war. It's hers. It always has been, and even now, never mind the happy ending for everyone else, it can only end the one way for her, can't it? The same way that it did the last time. She's going to die, one way or the other, and she's going to have to leave you behind. _Again_."

He looked down at his thin, laced fingers.

"I don't really like her," he said. "If I'm honest, really honest, I never liked really either version of her. The self-righteous smug and the trigger-happy wand carried - carry? - over in both of them, and just remind me too much of my own mum. But I don't hate her. I can't, because she does love you, and that... _that_ I understand. I got you back too, see? It was a miracle. And then I thought I was going to lose you, and I got you back again. For keeps. Those days where I thought..." He struggled. "Before you told me you could stay... Were staying, because you wouldn't fit through the door... They were worse than the entire nine years of Azkaban put together. The only thing worse than being refused a miracle, is getting your miracle and having it taken away again. And this situation... For me and her... It's not the world-crossing or coming back from the dead or anything else there that's the miracle, is it? For the two of us... Remus too, but especially for the two of us... It's all down to you."

Ren slumped.

"And I thought she was the one who holds the Grandmastery in emotional manipulation," he said, but there was no bite to it. "Fine. Fine.  I'll talk to her. Not now, though. I have to go get ready for tea."

"Excellent. And... Ah yes." Sirius smirked at him. "Tea. Do give darling Niss and Luscious Lucius Cousin Sirius' best regards, won't you? I'm _so_ looking forward to being a grandfather; I just can't _tell_ you!"

"Bugger off. Wait." Ren caught his arm as he rose. "Tell her.." He struggled again. "Fuck. Tell her..."

He swore, dug in his pocket, retrieved a Flake bar and transfigured it into a glass vial. Placed his wand at his temple. Sirius raised an eyebrow as a smooth, silver tendril emerged. Ren dropped it into the vial, corked it, and passed it over.

"Don't lose it," he ordered. "And tell her I want it back."

"Is this..."

"The wedding, yeah. At the Ministry. And I want it back."

"Can I watch it too? With Remus?"

"Sure. Why not. Pass it around for all of Hufflepuff to sniffle over for all of me. Just make sure she gets it first, and tell her we'll talk when I'm ready, not when she wants to, and that ..."

He paused.

"Yes?" Sirius prompted.

"Tell her that I'm okay," Ren said reluctantly. "And that everything's going to be okay. It's the last thing I remember her saying to me, actually. Tell her that. That I remember that. From that night. And that I guess I did internalize it after all, even if our world didn't cooperate in helping things along there, because it seems to be who I am now. What I am. They even gave me a Grandmastery for it, right?'

He cracked out, and cracked back in.

"Tell her to try and get the self-righteous smug under control," he ordered again. "If you think it'll help, tell her it reminds me of Petunia."

He cracked out a second time. Sirius barked a laugh, tucked the vial in his pocket, and blurred, lolloping down the hall.


	8. Wednesday Afternoon (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There Is Much Panic, Fortified Tea, And Awkward Conversation..

**Malfoy Manor**

**Wiltshire, England**

**Later That Afternoon**

"I am not," Lucius Malfoy informed his wife as she reached up and straightened the collar of his (her) favourite silver silk shirt, "looking forward to this at all. _For_ the record."

"Now, now." Narcissa patted his cheek as she examined the lay of his mother-of-pearl cufflinks. "There's absolutely nothing to contract about. We're just having friends over for drinks. Here." She handed him his (her) favourite knee-length-and-sleeveless navy robe. He slipped it on, she adjusted it a bit and turned him about. "Lovely. Sit."

"I am not contracting. I am panicking. And we don't have friends over for drinks, Niss." He sat on the stool, though, swiveling about to face the huge antique mirror across from their bed. Her fingers moved swiftly through his hair, weaving an elegant French braid. "We're Malfoys. We don't have friends _to_ invite over."

"It's the dawn of a new era. And I should hope you'd want to change that much anyway, my lovely, considering that our primary guest is going to be putting his cock up your arse. That'll be a bit awkward if you can't even claim to be amiable, won't it?"

"Nothing has been decided yet. Also, _really_? Was that supposed to calm my nerves?"

"No. But it amused me." Narcissa kissed his sleek head and turned him about, examining him critically. "Mm. No. Shirt's fine, trousers are perfect... No, no robe. The waistcoat will be fine, and we'll just leave the collar open a bit."

Lucius sighed and stripped off the robe. She bloused his shirt a bit and patted his rear. The enclosing, perfectly fitted navy hand-tailored wool slacks itched slightly, but there was no denying they were becoming, and the accompanying waistcoat was, in terms of the flattering aesthetic, downright excessive.

"Good enough to eat," Narcissa said approvingly. Her husband looked down at her sourly.

"Are you not even a _little_ nervous?"

"Of course." She sat on the stool in turn. Lucius retrieved the brush and began to run it through _her_ hair. "But it would be rather unladylike to advertise the fact, don't you think? My mother would roll over in her grave and start in with the screaming; then she'd raise Aunt Walburga just for the company, and _then_ she'd raise your father to pass judgment on _you_. Really, it's best this way."

"We could call in Cartwright Senior to be our army. He'd be happy to pop his ears at them, I'm sure."

"What a lovely thought. We shall have to have him for dinner soon."

"Mm." He arranged tendrils artistically. "How's that?"

"Perfect." Narcissa rose to her feet. Lucius bent to kiss her gently, so as not to muss her lipstick. She tweaked his nose.

"Stop _worrying_!" she ordered him. "Master Cartwright -"

"Master _Weasley-_ Cartwright - "

"Will be doing more than enough of that for all of us, poor thing, and it's our job to soothe him."

"I do not think..."

There was a crack, and Vinny popped in. Lucius could have sworn, as was always the case there, that he could hear the ever-so-faint echo of trumpets.

"They is coming through in five minutes, Mistress and Master," he announced. Narcissa twirled at him.

"Will we do?" she asked.

"Perfectly. Though you might be wanting to put the robe on, Master Lucius. Master Ren is wearing real dress slacks, not ones he is transfiguring from his cargo trousers, and Master Charlie is wearing St. Roux."

"What about the tie?"

"Vinny is sure that he is not being qualified to say, but still. St. Roux. We is needing to respect that. Also, Master Ren is being a little jittery," the young elf said delicately. "So again... You is probably wanting to not be putting the provocative obvious on display?”

"Uh?"

"Cover your arse," Narcissa translated, handing her husband the robe. "Or it'll send him screaming."

"Mistress is saying it," Vinny said virtuously. "Not Vinny. Please be taking note of that." He popped out again.

"Nrgh!" Lucius said, panicked again. Narcissa raised her eyebrows at him reprovingly. He wilted, then braced himself, shaking back his hair and smiling down... She patted his cheek.

"Moderate the disarming suavity," she advised. "You look like you're trying too hard, and it brings out your resemblance to Abraxas besides."

"Before or after he contracted dragon pox?"

"Well, you _are_ looking a little green. Do you need to sick up before we go?"

"No. I'm saving it up for all the apparating we'll be doing tomorrow."

"Excellent." The Lady of the Manor adjusted her exquisite-yet-not-overwhelmingly-ostentatious robes (the exact blue of Lucius' eyes) slipped on her favourite diamond earrings and a pair of delicate blue flats, and allowed her husband to offer her his arm. "Green sitting room?"

"Isn't that cheating?"

"No. It's responsible social planning. There's nervous and then there's _nervous._ Completely different protocols."

"Ah." They made their way down the hall, down the stairs, and turned into the aforementioned sitting room. Narcissa  closed the door and flicked her fingers. The huge portrait on the wall blanked and refocused.

"My _goodness,_ " she said appreciatively as the images reformed, revealing the interior of the reception room two doors down. " _That's_ little Dora's Charlie? Mm. Someone _has_ grown up nicely, hasn't he?"

"He's nineteen, Narcissa."

"I'm practicing to alarm his mother, Lucius. Shh."

Lucius just snorted and turned back to the view of their guests.

* * *

 

"How," Ren Weasley-Cartwright was saying between panicked, gritted teeth, "can you possibly, _possibly_ be so calm?"

"Because there's nothing to be nervous about." Charlie adjusted his collar. "We're visiting friends for drinks."

"And a _shag_! Argh!"

"Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, yeah?" It was  both tender and patently amused. "Here. Hold still." Lucius and Narcissa watched as the younger man adjusted his husband's black silk waistcoat and tie. A dressy, extremely-if-quietly expensive dark crimson button-down, trim charcoal linen slacks, a shining, hand-made black Italian leather belt and matching shoes completed his outfit. "Gorgeous." He kissed his nose, and his pierced eyebrow. The barbell shimmered, the jewels changing to crimson and black to match his outfit.  "Though I still think you should have worn the robe. They're going to be totally distracted by your arse."

"Yeah, yeah." Cartwright sank down on a delicate, padded Victorian chair and promptly stood again. Lucius' lips twitched at his wince. Narcissa grinned outright.  "Alcohol. He promised me there'd be alcohol."

"It'll be fine," Charlie soothed as he transfigured his wand to a mirror and checked himself swiftly. He wore an exquisite dark grey three piece suit in the latest (surprisingly tasteful) Wizarding style, and his hair had been trimmed down from its riotous halo of curl to a shining and eminently fashionable clipped tousle. His shoes, Lucius noted, made no pretense of adding so much as a single half-inch to his inconsiderable height... Oddly, that fact alone made him seem taller. "Just follow my lead, and everything will be just fine." He caught his new husband’s  increasingly nauseated expression and lowered the mirror. "Seriously, Dash; shagging aside - why are you so worried?  Didn't you tell me you had a good time with him on Monday?"

"Yeah, but we didn't discuss anything _related_ on Monday! We just... Talked!"

"About..."

"Stuff! _Other_ stuff!"

"That's a bit non-specific, innit? D'you think there's any chance that the children will inherit his eloquence?"

"Oh, shut up. Nrgh!" There was a sound of guttural frustration.  "I _hate_ this! Three  International  Masteries, and he's going to think I'll have a fourth for sure, and how, _how_ I ask you, am I supposed to bring into the conversation that I'd never even kissed another man till Saturday? That I didn't even know I was _bent_ till Saturday?"

"Self-repression really isn't that uncommon, mate," his husband reassured him gently, coming over again to rub his back. "And it does help if you have context, yeah? You didn't. You were married really young, and those three Masteries you just mentioned took up  a lot of your time and focus besides, and it's not like you hate yourself, or hated yourself _for_ it, is it? You just never self-identified. Which again, isn't nearly as uncommon as you seem to think, and certainly isn't anything that anyone is going to judge you for."

"Translated: they've already figured it out." Cartwright dropped into the chair again, burying his face in his hands. _"Bugger!"_ Augusta was having her effect there, Lucius couldn't help but think... American or not, that last exhortation was very British indeed. There was even a bit of the convincing accent.

"Nope. No buggering today. It'll be awkward looks and fortified tea all around, and if it goes on for too long, they'll prolly take the bullet for us and say  they're petrified just to make us feel better. They're classy people, yeah, and  that's what classy people do.  I never grew up with any myself" - Narcissa choked back a giggle at that - "but Dora gave me the run-down on the basics way back when, so we should be fine." The young wrangler pulled him into a firm, solid hug. "Trust me, Dash, alright? If there were - if there ever is -  something to worry about, I _will_ tell you. In advance, and in good time, I swear it, to work up all your necessary wards." He took his face in both hands and kissed him warmly and deeply. "I promise you, mate. I _am_ promising you. Everything. Will. Be. Fine _. Trust_ me!"

"I'm so glad I married you," Cartwright said fervently. "Even if I do have to suffer through your mum as part of the deal."

"Mm. Solace right there; we won't have more in-laws to deal with since they're both orphans. Neither of us would ever have been in there; never mind my status as a blood-traitor, Abraxas Malfoy would have buggered his son himself for the cause before offering him up to the Americans."

Lucius gagged, then sighed, then gagged again.  Narcissa patted his shoulder.

"Didn't he die of dragon pox? It  originated from the Peruvian Vipertooths, did you know that?"

"I did. And it's a particularly unpleasant way to go, I hear, for something that isn't cancer. Maybe not quite as unpleasant as rotting to death in Azkaban after having your arms chewed off by a giant feral perpetually-hungry Alaskan Kodiak, but..."

Narcissa quite nearly choked as that one processed _._ Lucius actually clapped his hand over her mouth. His wife bit him, hard. He yelped and released her. Narcissa glared at him as she healed the offending wound wandlessly. "You _knew_?" she hissed at him.

"Unofficially, yes."

"And you didn't _tell_ me?"

"I was hoping to get the memory from the source and surprise you with it, my heart, once his grandson has knocked us up and we're all one big happy pregnant family. Viewing material to soothe you through the prospective hormonal fits and morning sickness, perhaps?"

"My poor mate," Charlie was saying solicitously as Cartwright sank down, then stood again.  "You need another easing charm on your arse before we're forced to sit like gentleman?"

"My arse is fine. My nerves are a different story. This was not covered at Dark Wanker U. Or at Dueling U, and _definitely_ not at Warding U.!”

“Protection's kind of contraindicated here," Charlie agreed. He glanced around. "Where d'you think they've got to, anyway? We're not that early, are we?"

"And that's our cue. Contract,"  Narcissa murmured to Lucius as she straightened his robe one last time. "And babble on a bit about your latest potions project. It's annoying, but you'll come across as nervous.'

"I _am_ nervous!"

"As well you should be. I want that memory, Luke, and I want it before we're forced to sit down for Sunday dinner with  Molly Weasley. The fortifying and projected images _will_ sustain me. I'll go in first," she directed. "Follow on my cue."

"Nrgh!" he said, panicked. His beloved kissed him lightly, breathed once and determinedly, and setting her pale, slim shoulders, opened the door and stepped out briskly.

* * *

 

"Gentlemen!" she hailed, stepping through lightly. "Welcome!" Caught mid-panicked moan, Ren froze on the spot. Charlie squeezed his shoulder firmly and stepped forward, his brown eyes warm and smiling. Young as he was, Narcissa Black Malfoy was decidedly disconcerted... Lucius had told her, of course, of the boy's remarkable self-possession, but faced with it...

It startled. He wasn't even twenty yet, and he presented himself with the easy, calm poise of a man her grandfather's age. Never mind his mean height and cheerfully boyish face, she thought, he wouldn't have looked, his sheerly radiating amounts of charisma considered and even without the (really quite perfect) suit,  out of place in the halls of the All-European Wizengamot.

And the incumbents of the All-European Wizengamot would have been paying attention to him.

 _Respectful_ attention.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Narcissa Black Malfoy reflected most indelicately, was likely now pissing himself at the stories on Ren Cartwright, but if he ever were to set eyes on his new spouse of his, he'd be spewing from every orifice he owned. Bellatrix, on the other hand, attracted to power as she was...

Narcissa shuddered slightly, if internally, and forced her attention away from that trending thought. The young man before her took her offered hand and bowed lightly.

"Mrs. Malfoy. Charles Weasley-Cartwright. My husband and I are honoured by your invitation."  It wasn’t her imagination, Niss told herself firmly. It _wasn’t._ He was positively _glowing,_ as if lit by deep, warm fire from the inside out.

In a way, she supposed, he must be- and she suddenly and most definitely, _definitely,_ never wanted to be near him when he was angry.

"As my husband and I are by your acceptance," she responded. "Please, call me Niss."

"Charlie," he responded in turn. She smiled, and turned to his husband.

"Master-Adept Weasley- Cartwright." She offered Ren a warm smile and a light kiss on the cheek. "It's so good to see you again. Welcome, and may I offer you my congratulations on your much-deserved accolades? I didn’t get a chance to say on Saturday, but you were absolutely superb. It was, quite simply, a privilege to see you in action, and I will treasure the memories throughout my life.”

"Thank you, ma'am," Ren said. He yet looked a bit flustered, but...

_He's verbal again. Excellent._

"It's just Ren, please," he was saying. "And I apologize in advance for stepping in it, socially speaking. I promise you, it _will_ happen."

"Then you may consider yourself forgiven in advance, and we'll say nothing more on the matter at any point. Now, I know Luke calls you Lawrence; would you like me to have a word with him on suppressing his formal instincts?"

"It's okay. I'd be afraid he'd break something with it. You have a lovely ... Erhm." He looked around.

"Home?" Charlie offered, amused. "Or if you're going for the specifics... Reception room?"

"Shu'p," Ren muttered. A black snout poked out of his shirt sleeve inquiringly. He smacked it back. "No! New tattoo," he said to his hostess. "Sorry. It hates it when I wear long sleeves because it can't see anything."

"One moment," Narcissa said, graciously ignoring that.  "LUKE!"

"Right here, my heart." Lucius called, and came down the hall, smiling. "I am so sorry; I had a  cauldron on the fire. Lawrence! Charles! Welcome!"

"Thanks," Ren said, and promptly blushed violently. A sound came from his sleeve that might have been a snigger. He covered it quickly with a cough as Charlie shook hands with the man before them again, and again offered him an amused look. His husband ignored it as he shook hands with Lucius himself, firmly. "Nice to see you again, Malfoy."

"Luke, please. Both of you. The pleasure is ours, I assure you. This way, if you would, and if may I ask, first, how your brother is, Charles?" Lucius inquired as he ushered them all down the hall again and to the left, into a lovely, comfortable room... Ren looked about curiously. It was decorated in silver, ivory and muted greens, with a high domed ceiling with painted frescoes of twining vine and flowers. There was a long window with a view of the gardens and the fields beyond, and of all things, a baby grand piano, tucked into a corner... Two deep, comfortable sofas faced each other, a square glass coffee table framed in filigreed iron between them. There was a delicate porcelain tea service  laid out on a side trolley, along with a variety of various bottles, a small silver bucket of ice, and a dainty dish of lemon slices. "I must admit, I was quite concerned when we all met at the bank on Monday."

"He's doing as well as can be expected at this point," Charlie said. "The surgery was successful, but the combination of the after-effects of the curses and the long term effects of the pain medications he was on, never mind the shock of what he witnessed in Brazil...  We brought him into St. Dymphna's this morning."

"Well, If there is anything - anything - you need, or he needs, please do let us know." Lucius gestured to the sofas. "Please. Make yourselves comfortable. May I offer either of you tea, or a drink?"

"Thank you," Ren said. "Tea for now." Charlie just nodded at their host's inquiring eyebrow as he raised a bottle of whiskey. He settled beside his husband, crossing one leg over his knee comfortably and stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.

"I imagine you're both pretty curious," he said as Narcissa settled gracefully opposite. "About the events of the last few days?"

"If you will pardon the expression... Burningly so." Lucius handed Ren off his tea, and poured firewhiskey (neat) into three crystal tumblers. Narcissa gave him a reproving Look as she accepted hers. The dragon wrangler just laughed.

"Bit of a story, yeah, and we'll get to it, but why don't we get the formalities out of the way first. Personal introductions: tallest goes first?"

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy." the man obliged as he too, settled comfortably. "Thirty seven, Head of House Malfoy, husband of eighteen years to Narcissa, father of Draco, formerly employed by one Tom Marvolo Riddle in the position of Dark Strategist Extraordinare - though for the record, it was never my preferred career choice, and I was always rather free and loose when exercising the strict parameters of the job description. Hobbies include Potions, Nomaji cinema, hunting down the perfect spicy chicken vindaloo, and keeping my neighbours guessing on whether the neo-secret room under my drawing room floor contains  ten generations' worth of Dark Artifacts or twenty years' worth of garden-and-church sale Nomaji paperback specials. In the interests of full disclosure, and much to my embarrassment as an Englishman, I am not actually that fond of Agatha Christie, nor Sayers' Lord Peter Wimsey-"

"Great plonker," Charlie agreed. "Bunter was a bit of alright though, yeah?"  Ren poked him.

"And would greatly appreciate it if at some point, Master-Adept Weasley-Cartwright, you would put my wards there back the way you found them."

There was a resounding silence.

"Erhm." Ren lowered his tea cup. "Yeah. About that."

"You were not unexpected. Augusta informed me of your incipient visit on the morning before you came by," Lucius reassured him. "She told me that a friend of hers would be stopping by to pick up a certain item left in my care, again by my former employer, for disposal, so I just placed it on the mantel in my study for your convenience along with the celebratory cigars. I trust that you enjoyed them?"

"They were very nice. Thank you. Augusta told you I was coming to pick up Riddle's diary? Really?"

"Yes. She has always been aware of my true affiliations; her son Frank and I kept each other informed during the war, though his allies were no more aware of the fact than mine were. He simply operated, as I did for Riddle, as his colleagues' key strategist, and if any ever commented on his truly uncanny instincts, there was always someone else to remind them of his mother's talents. She has never openly stated her opinions of Malfoy since the first war ended, but that too is a strategic move. Neither of us has ever had any doubt but that he would return at some point, so we have nodded coolly and politely to each other in public, and exchanged the warmer cordialities such as birthday and Christmas gifts and the occasional note such as the one I just mentioned via our house-elves."

"Oh," the young Warder said blankly. "That... Explains a lot. Alright. Erhm. Did you have any idea of what the particular item was? The diary, I mean? And did you actually stow it under your drawing room?

"No. I knew only that it was considerably more than it seemed. Do I want to know?"

"It's probably safer if you don't."

"Very well. As for where I kept it... I passed it on to Dobby, our head house-elf here at Malfoy Manor. He kept it taped to the bottom of his sock drawer.  I was fairly certain that of all the places in the world, that..." He looked mildly alarmed as Ren coughed helplessly on his tea.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Ren waved him off as his hostess half-rose. He was red-eyed with spluttering mirth. "'M sorry. That just struck me as really funny." He sniggered into his tea, and recovered himself. "Sorry. Well, no details at this point like I said, but I can tell you that it was one of an extremely poorly written series, none of which the general public need to worry on suffering through any longer. Book tour not only postponed but cancelled, and no further editions or projected sequels in the works either, if only because the market has been so thoroughly flooded that further speculative investment on the part of the author-slash-publisher would prove completely unsustainable."

"How reassuring. And that is all there is to be said about that?" Lucius' mouth tilted.

"Pretty much, yep. From our perspective, anyway. I daresay the author himself will have quite a lot to say about it when he comes back, but what can you do. I've heard he always did like to go on just to hear himself talk."

"Mm," his host agreed, and that was all.

"Your turn, mate." Charlie said cheerfully to Ren.

"Right." Ren collected himself. "Lawrence Domitian Weasley-Cartwright, career overachiever. Thirty at the end of last July, born in the USA, raised in Brazil - mostly, anyway. I met my wife at eleven, married her at twenty one, and as much as I would like to tell you more, I really, really can't, for her family's sake." He looked a bit awkward at that. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," Narcissa sipped her whiskey. "It’s obvious to us from your lack of personal and professional public references, Master-Adept Weasley- Cartwright, that you did not attain your credentials in what one would consider the traditional manner. We, of all people, are, I assure you, in absolutely no position to pass situational judgment."

"I appreciate that." He shifted a bit again. Charlie squeezed his shoulder lightly in encouragement. The Malfoys waited patiently.

"While we're on the subject of my marrying young," Ren said. "And my wife..." Husband and wife watched as he set his cup down and ran his hands through his hair. "We might as well just put it all out there. I guess you've probably realized by now that you two caught me a bit off-guard on Saturday? In all ways?"

"We have," Lucius said gently. "And before we go any further... We would like to apologize profusely for that. I'm afraid we rather assumed that because you are Augusta's relative you would know more of our local traditions than you obviously do, and because of... Any number of other things... Well. That you were..."

"Experienced?" Ren supplied. "Because of the photo of me in the Leaky with Bill?"

Lucius actually looked a bit embarrassed.

"I have lost my touch, I am afraid," he said. "I, of all people, should know that two and two do not always equal four. And the timing seemed so fortuitous... Ordained, even, in a way.... Such a series of events, all so precisely aligned toward the apparent acceptable end... I am afraid, Lawrence, in our rush to see things resolved in the most strategically advantageous manner, that we quite forgot to take the reality that you are an actual human being into account. For all embarrassment and discomfort that we, and particularly I, have caused you, I beg your forgiveness."

He bowed his head. Ren blinked at him.

"It's okay," he said. "It was a long..." He paused. "It's been a long life, yeah, for all concerned. And once I'd done my 'what the hell-ing' and gone to see Charlie because the Horntails had told me that we belonged together, and wasn't _that_ was a shock; we'd met in person a grand total of twice at that point, he filled me in on what actually had happened, and a bit on you, and reassured me that you could be trusted. Which went a long way toward reassuring me, and..."

"He _did_?" Narcissa looked at him oddly. "You  _did_? That is... Please don't take this the wrong way, Charlie, but... You did?"

"What, tell him that you can be trusted? Yeah of course," the wrangler said matter-of-factly.

“And may I ask what led you to this conclusion? Your family and ours… The history there is complex, to say the least.”

"History was never my preferred subject. I’d rather look forward. More to the point, your niece Dora has been my best friend since first year at Hogwarts. And no, Mum didn't, and doesn’t, really approve  - she has no problem with Dora's parents, but Bellatrix did take out her brothers, yeah, and she's never going to be able to get past that. Dad told me in private, though, that no one's responsible for their relatives' behaviour, and that insofar as you're concerned, Luke, he'd always reckoned you for a deep-cover agent because he and Mum were at school during the years you were there, and he said that AllBallsNoBrains Malfoy would never have been on the same side of _anything_ as ThatCrazyBitch Black. It was just against the laws of nature.”

Lucius snorted at that. Narcissa chuckled.

“He also said not to spread his opinions around there, though, because never mind Mum, if the confirmed details hadn't come out it was because you didn't want them to, and if you didn't want them to, there was a damned good reason for it." The wrangler sipped his whiskey again. "I reckon he's one of your biggest admirers in his own way, and you'll prolly be hearing his opinions on your subject round the Ministry water coolers next week at the latest. Everybody - _everybody_ \- knows how protective Arthur Weasley is of his kids, and if he says  he isn't bothered by the idea of my association with you, it'll bring in a lot more people off the fence."

"May I ask," Lucius said. "Forgive me... Did he ask you to relay these sentiments, however indirectly?"

"No. He didn't have to. I might look like a Prewett, but of all the kids, he and I think the most alike. We are the most alike. That being said, it's only fair to warn you of an upcoming development there."

"Oh?"

"There's a big family blowout coming," Charlie said bluntly. "Over Christmas, more'n likely. I'm pretty sure that Mum and Dad aren't going to survive it. Their marriage, I mean. It's going to get ugly, really ugly, and at the end of it Dad might very well file for custody of the kids. If he goes that route, Ren and I will be supporting him. The reasons aren't likely to ever spread beyond the family, though, and that means the rumour mill will likely lay the blame on that complex family history you just mentioned, Niss, and on your current doorstep."

Narcissa's lips pursed slightly. Lucius sat back and tapped his fingers on the arm of the sofa as he looked the younger man over.

"I am truly sorry to hear that," he said finally. "Are you sure it is inevitable?"

"Yeah. I am."

Narcissa sighed.

"Well, we will not press for details," she said. "But if you wish to confide in us, or even if you simply wish to talk, Charlie, our door is always open. And once things do come out, please tell your father the same."

"I will," he said. "So?"

"Ah." She collected herself. "Narcissa Black Malfoy, thirty seven, professional society wife and mother. I enjoy indoor gardening - I keep several greenhouses and am quite looking forward to meeting your grandfather, Master-Adept, so that we might compare notes -the Nomaji art of glass-blowing, and keeping people guessing. Too, the piano there is mine, and I am reasonably proficient on the cello."

"The... _What_?" Charlie said involuntarily.

"Cello. A Nomaji musical instrument, of the string family..."

"I know what a cello is, love. How long have you played?"

"Since Lucius and I were married. We were both introduced to Nomaji classical music while we were on our exchange years with ISEP. I quite fell in love with the instrument, and he bought me a Stradivarius as a wedding gift. After that, I taught myself from books he'd bring in on his secret forays to London Muggleside during the war. Why do you ask?"

"Believe it or not, it has to do with dragons again. Romanian Longhorns are a bit anxious, and cello music calms them like nothing else. Something to do with the sound; it hits the sweet spot on their auditory spectrum and soothes the jitters. Now I’m  having this mental image of you sitting in their field in an evening gown, playing them a concerto."

Narcissa laughed outright, surprised. Lucius chuckled in genuine warm delight.

"Now there is an image we must make a reality, my heart," he said to his wife.  "And into a portrait afterwards."

"Oh, you," she said fondly, and turning back - "Do either of you have any more specific questions for me? For either of us?”

"Not right now," Ren said. "Your turn, Charlie."

"Right." His husband settled back, crossing one leg over the other again. He looked phenomenally relaxed. "Charles Septimus Weasley-Cartwright, nineteen, dragon wrangler. Second of seven kids, and as of this point and unless Mum rescinds my claim - a not un-possible possibility, all things considered - Heir of House Prewett. Pretty sure she'll  end up passing it on to Percy though, unless I select - and it's just a statement of fact, not of assumption or presumption so don't hit me for it - another maternal candidate for myself besides the sister of the woman who ended that line in the first place."

Narcissa winced. Ren elbowed Charlie, hard. Charlie shook his head at him.

"It's gotta be said, mate. It's not any reflection at all on what, or how I think; you know that, but it's still a relevant subject. S'what the firewhiskey's for, yeah, to get us through these unpleasant but necessary qualifications?"

"It is quite alright, Lawrence," Lucius said. "And Charles is absolutely correct.  Weasley's inclusion in these proceedings - particularly this particular Weasley, since he is, as he says, Heir to Prewett - is a major factor in terms of our negotiations. Is there someone you have thought on, Charles?"

"Yeah. Dora. Lupin's got his eye on her now though, and I reckon when it comes right down to it, she'd prefer him."

"Ah. Well, one decision at a time, I suppose. Hobbies?"

Charlie opened his mouth, then closed it. For the first time he looked  actively disconcerted.

"Yes?" Ren prompted.

"I reckon I don't really know," Charlie admitted. "I like reading and Quidditch, but really, dragons have always been where it's at for me, yeah? And now that we're here in London full-time, I'm going to have to work up some alternatives."

"You don't have to quit your job." Ren frowned at him. "We can work something out there."

"I know I don't have to, mate. But after the last few months, I'm re-evaluating my priorities. Lying there, dying, and thinking of all the things that I'd never get to do... Things you just take for granted that you _will_ get to do: fall in love properly, get married, have a few kids, travel about a bit... I'd like to work on projects that will make a real difference, yeah? And now there's you, and yeah, Luke and Niss here... Christ, the three of you? Not just the things you've done, but the kind of people all of you are?" He looked a bit wistful. "The Horntails gave me a gift. Not just life, but the possibility of doing something real with it. Not on the saving-the-world level, but on the making-a-difference-in-the-world level. So whatever happens next... I want to make it count."

Ren took his hand.

"We'll figure it out," he said. "Together. I have no plans after the end of January, so we'll book in a review then."

"Yeah. Though..." His husband sat up a bit. "Here's a question for you. One that I reckon again that we're all curious on. How does being an International Warder work, exactly? I mean, in terms of scheduling and contracts and all?"

Narcissa shook her head (internally) as she watched the young Warder brighten visibly, almost to the point of his husband’s glow, and watched the way Charlie Weasley-Cartwright’s eyes hooded slightly in pleased satisfaction at the sight... The young wrangler  had, to her experienced eye, more than obviously been saving the question to slip in at the appropriate moment toward the end of distracting  his new partner in his particularly agitated state, and he’d timed it impeccably - immediately after Ren’s self-conscious, embarrassed revelations, and his own commiserative, and in hindsight, quite deliberate, admission of youthful uncertainty.

 _One week. They’ve known each other for_ one week.

 _I do not care how naturally charismatic he is, or what the Horntails did to him. That is not_ natural. He _is not natural._

_I do believe that we two will be having tea together very, very soon, Mr. Weasley-Cartwright._

"There's a fair amount of travel involved," Ren was saying. "And yeah, there's fun stuff like the security for events like the Quidditch World Cup, but when it comes down to it, we're global trouble-shooters. The ICW has a department specifically for monitoring potential disasters of all types, Magical and not, and it's our job to prevent them. The lethifolds are a prime example there. The particular issue's been on the agenda for centuries, but it's got tabled every time because there was simply nothing to be done about it.  It's why they gave me the Grandmastery because it is a Warder's job, and I did it. Locally- if we stay on here, I'll be liaising with the Department of Magical Disasters and Catastrophes, and with the Unspeakables too. They work on levels of security that no one knows exists.'

"Will they actually pay you?" Charlie asked.

"Yes.  I'll be offered an annual retaining fee - as a consultant, not an employee -  and paid again on a case-by-case basis.  There'll be times I'll be working with the other International-Level Warders on larger projects, and there, we'll all set the prices together. Mind you," he added. "When you're working on a project that does call for the entire team, money rarely comes into it. It's all favours owed and exchanged, and unofficially acknowledged permanent understandings channeled via the ICW."

"Examples?" Lucius inquired, genuinely curious.

"Brazil again. There's no price that can be put on that kind of job.  No price that can be, and you don't charge for that sort of thing anyway; it's indecent. But now that it's done... The ICW's let me know, unofficially again, that I'll never have to pay for, or wait for, a portkey again, anywhere. They'll provide me with diplomatic immunity wherever I go, both Magical and Non-Magical. There'll be no floo line that I'll ever have to wait to connect on, and when I am traveling, anywhere, the hotel bills will never come my way. I'm expected not to take excessively chronic advantage of their generosity, but at the same time, they will expect me to abuse the privileges shamelessly now and again. It's not all about politics, after all; I did solve a rather serious problem for them, and they want the opportunity to demonstrate their sincere and genuine appreciation. I've already put in the request for several personal favours, and they were absolutely thrilled to oblige me."

"How's that? And are your family and friends included in on this charming arrangement?" Narcissa wanted to know.

"Yes on the family on everything but the diplomatic immunity, and they won't turn down a request on behalf of friends, but there's the understanding on moderation there too, particularly if the friends can afford it otherwise.” He looked apologetic at that, Narcissa waved him off.  “Specific requests - I've put in for a dozen extra front row seats for the Invitationals, since my family's unexpectedly grown in size since I was sent my standards. The portkey that takes us to New York will be powered to take all of Hufflepuff who want to go, and can make it. I'll be putting in a standing requisition for some of the rarer ingredients in my bio-runic inks - not illegal ones, just ones on which there are waiting periods, and will be getting regular packages. that one's a bit of a _quid pro quo_. I'll be asked to share the results of my research. And I'll be building a lab, location as of yet to be determined, and that'll probably be covered too."

"Will you be offered sponsorship deals? For warding broom companies and whatnot?” Charlie turned slightly to face his husband full on. His repositioned knee brushed Ren’s thigh, and remained there... The tea-pot flew over neatly and poured, refilling the Warder’s cup. The cream pitcher followed, and a silver spoon, stirring three times precisely, clockwise. Narcissa watched, then caught Charlie’s  eye, her own eyebrow arching in inquiry.  His lips flicked at her behind his tumbler, his sleeve slipping just slightly as he twisted his wrist to show that his holstered wand was yet firmly ensconced underneath… The tea-pot replaced itself neatly without spilling a drop. The young man didn’t so much as look at it to see where he was directing it.

 _Wandless magic? On_ that _precise a level? Aren’t we talented._

_And…_

_Subtle?_

_Now_ there’s _a characteristic that one wouldn’t associate with a Weasley._

Narcissa watched as her younger guest reached out and adjusted Ren’s collar a bit,  and as Ren flashed a quick, sweet smile at him in turn, turning his head to brush the sturdy freckled fingers with his lips before returning his attention to the conversation and without one whit of awareness that said conversation had ever been interrupted. She deliberated, toed her slippers off and tucked her feet up, leaning against her own husband... Lucius put an arm around her, she tilted her head to kiss his jaw, and sipped from her tumbler, watching as it refilled and as the level in the bottle on the trolley lowered correspondingly. Again, she caught Charlie’s eye, and inclined her head ever so slightly. He raised his own glass to her ever so slightly in return, in a tiny toast of acknowledgement of her thanks. Her fingers flickered, and there was suddenly ice chinking loudly in his refilled glass. Her message there was clear - _we’ll talk more openly over drinks together later, now cool it_  - and just as clearly received.  They turned their attention completely back to their two men.

"I'm sure I will be _,”_ Ren said.  “But that's really not my thing. I don't need the money or the free advertising, after all.  I'll likely collect the full set of brooms though, either directly from the source or as an appreciation gift from the Americas - I talked to Gus Richards again this morning, very briefly, and he said they're all absolutely killing themselves trying to figure out how to thank me. I said that I didn't want or need thanks, he said that as a Warder himself, he understands, but that it isn't about me, not even a little bit, so to just take whatever they offer me and keep my humility to myself. So I'll accept those. I'd want them anyway, because different jobs require different types of equipment."

"Are you permitted to turn any jobs down?" Lucius asked, interested.

"Yes and no? Stuff like the Quidditch World Cup security, yeah. It's not vital, and doesn't really require someone quite on my level. If, say, the President of MACUSA asked me, as a favour to a fellow American, to pop by and have a look at the wards... It'd be considered a courtesy, and unless it was an emergency I could say "Sure, how does a week from next Thursday sound, that'll give me time to plan a few errands around it and I'll let you take me out for dinner afterwards." If it's something like diverting an asteroid... Yeah, that's pretty much obligatory."

"Divert a... _What_ ? _What_?"

"Miracles aren't always miracles. Sometimes they're the result of ten years of quiet, careful work and planning, with an alarm set to go off at the crucial moment."

"You will have to be very firm with Fudge," Lucius told him. "He _will_ try to take advantage."

"I got that," Ren said dryly. "When he suggested he take me and my fiance out for a lovely meal in exchange for my quote-unquote 'having a little look-see' at the Ministry of Magic's primary wards grid toward the end of suggesting, read implementing, any upgrades and improvements."

Sadly, none of the three individuals present looked remotely surprised.

"That's what I said," the Warder agreed. "I told him that I'm a bit busy for dinner, but to have his people work up a proposal for the other, and I'd get back to him once my schedule's cleared a bit. He looked positively hurt at the idea that I'd be so crass as to require pay for my efforts."

Husband and wife snorted in derisive tandem.

"Par for the course. I think I finally got it through his head though, that the only reason I'm not charging Hogwarts is that my grandfather is Headmaster there." He drained his tea and set the cup down on the saucer, settling his shoulders. As if in response, Narcissa felt Lucius’ own shoulders tense.

“Which brings us round to that other reason we’re here today,” Ren Cartwright said. “You ready, Malfoy?”

“Now?”

The Warder paused as he loosened his cufflink, and looked up. The tiny silence stretched.

“Yeah,” he said. His lips quirked. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Lucius didn’t laugh. He looked, quite frankly, terrified. Ren shook his head.

“First things first,” he said. “I’ll have a good look to see what we’ve got to work with, and then we’ll map out our strategy.”

“I had thought said that you’d done this before!”

"I have, yes, on the equivalents anyway, but I can’t just dive in there. Bio-runics aren’t one-size fits all, and Riddle would have had to  tailor each of his followers’ Marks on the individual level at least a little. He might have tried for an auto-adapting sequence to accommodate for the differentials when branding the unwashed masses, but considering that he thought of  you his right-hand man, he might have put in a bit more effort. We can’t assume on anything, and more to the point, I don’t and _won’t_ assume on anything. Not with you, not with anyone, not now, not ever.” He removed his second cufflink, dropping it into his pocket, and rolled up his sleeves. “It’s not how I do things. It’s not how I am. Are you comfortable here, or would you prefer to take it elsewhere?”

“Will you need more room or specific accommodations?” Narcissa asked.

“No. I’m fine here if you are.”

“Well, then.” She gestured. “Please.”

“Thanks. Mind if I…” He too, gestured. Lucius said nothing, just pulled his legs in. The young Warder seated himself in front of him, on the table itself, and looked him straight in the eye.

“You’re scared,” he said to the taller man directly. His voice was mild, calm and eminently matter-of-fact and uncondemning. “I get that. It’s been a long haul, and a part of you, no matter what, will never feel safe because it’s never been safe _to_ feel safe. So… We’ll take the nerves as a given, and I’ll ask you something else again. In this instant, in this context… The context that you’ve witnessed personally as you’ve watched me take all the exams to prove myself in my field…  Do you understand that I meant what I said on that dais, Malfoy? That I would rather risk death than risk harm to anyone with the hands that I’ve now sworn, by all and everything I hold sacred, never to use for anything that doesn’t serve the ends of guarding and protecting my territory?”

"Yes, I..." Lucius paused, removing his arm from around Narcissa gently. She shifted back a bit. He rubbed his face with both hands. "I do, but… I am sorry. This all constitutes a rather large leap of faith. As a career strategist, those have never seemed to me particularly prudent.”

"I’ve taken a few of those myself over the years,” Ren conceded, and patted his knee. “And it never gets any easier. We’re not anywhere near the point of no return, though, so why don't you let me have that look I suggested, at least, and we'll see what's what? I’ll explain everything I do as we go along, I promise, and if you need me to stop and clarify a point or ask a question, you go right ahead."

Lucius nodded, and began to unfasten his right sleeve. Narcissa tucked herself into the corner of the sofa, accepting the cufflink that he passed to her. Ren reached out to help him roll up his sleeve, turning  his wrist and tracing a light, gentle finger over the tattoo on the forearm... A look, not just of disgust, but open disdain flickered over his pleasant features.

"Fucking amateur," he muttered disparagingly. "No finesse at all. And _ugly?_  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; there is absolutely no law, _anywhere_ , that says you have to sacrifice your sense of the aesthetic along with your soul.”

Lucius offered him a peculiar look. Ren just waved him off and popped his wands,  unstrapping  the containing holsters and tossing them to Charlie as he tapped his empty tea-cup and transfigured it into a long cylindrical support pillow.

“Put the pillow across your knees,” he ordered. “Like that, yeah, and rest your arm on it, Mark up again."

Lucius obliged. Ren reached out to touch it again, then did a double-take... He set his wands aside and took the other man's hand, rotating the crooked, rigid index finger and thumb.

"No injury, no curse… Training lock?” he asked.

"Yes."

"Whoever laid it on you had one hell of a lot of oomph. How long has it been there?"

"Twenty one years."

"Twenty..." The slighter man looked up, startled. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. It was put on me when I was sixteen, before I returned from Castelobruxo on my ISEP year. I have learned to adapt somewhat over the years, but never to the point, alas, where I could offer anyone a serious threat as a duelist.” He flexed the remainder of his hand. “Glamours are wonderful things, as are desk jobs, particularly when you are as skilled at both as I am, and my former employer’s recruits were never famed for their ability to think in the manner in which I specialize. Riddle was quite displeased with me at first, but after his initial fit of sulks on my carelessness in depriving him of an International level executioner,  he did eventually concede my worth as one who would work strictly behind the scenes.”

"Ah. And the guy who cast it on you is from South America? I don't suppose he's registered at the Invitationals?'

"He is deceased."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Ren prodded again. "I would have liked to meet him. Fuck _me_ , but that's beautifully set. I've met maybe a handful of people in my life who could manage the kind of casting where it would only affect half of your two fingers." He withdrew and grinned suddenly. "No wonder Riddle was pissed when he saw it; he’d have taken it as an effective  ‘screw you, asshole’ from the source once he realized he didn’t have the oomph to break it.”

"It was not a case of oomph. The particular variation can only be broken by the one who put it on me."

"Nope. I mean, I’m sure he told you that, but that was only to salve his own pride. It can only be broken by someone more powerful than the one who put it on you. Not quite the same thing, yeah?”

"Could _you_ break it?" Charlie asked as their hosts processed that.

"Oh, probably, but after all this time, it's rusted a bit. It'd be easier - and safer - to work my way around it than to try and remove it. Give me a few days to see what I can come up with." He examined the Mark again. "Why did he put it on your right arm? I thought the left was traditional there."

"He never made any statements, but I suspect that he was insulted by the fact that someone else had branded me. It was a symbolic gesture, in that he was laying his claim on the same arm."

"Ah." Ren placed a firm, warm hand flat against the Mark and concentrated. Narcissa gasped as he drew his hand back, a single emerald green strand linking the Mark to his palm.

"What..."

Just as abruptly, the strand disappeared. Ren turned his palm over. A single green dot marked the center. He smiled at her, and stood... The table flew aside, leaving a wide space between the two sofas.

"Now," he said. "Let's see what we've got to work with here." He brushed his left hand over his right, and flicked the fingers of both hands. Before the three sets of startled eyes, a three dimensional, slowly spinning image of the Dark Mark rose.

"Proxy model," the Warder explained.  "Like the one of the castle in the Wards Room. I can't work on it by proxy, but I _can_ get a much more detailed look at what he's done with each layer before we tackle the real thing." He began to flick delicately and swiftly with his wands... Then stopped abruptly. "Oop."

"Oop?" Narcissa repeated. " _Oop?_ Please, Master-Adept. Do feel free to elaborate."

"Hold on, hold..." Ren prodded a bit more. "Mm. Yeah. That figures, doesn't it? Dark Wankers. Only children at heart, every one of 'em; there was never one born who wouldn't rather blow up their toys than share them." He tucked his wands behind his ears and began to untangle threads deftly with his fingers. Pried two apart and peered in between at the apparently empty space. "Aw, come _on_ now! That's not even evil, it’s just petty!"

"Still waiting here, Master-Adept."

Ren let the strands pop together. "Right," he said briskly, turning to Lucius. "No worries, but here's the thing. I can see everything he's done here from all angles, but he's locked it all down so that only he can get back in to alter it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mm. Petty, like I said. No windows, just the single door. Like I said, that in and of itself isn't really an issue to worry on; it's crudely set to say the least, and I can pick it without any trouble at all. Unfortunately, he's as good as curses and hexes as he is bad with aesthetics." He pushed the proxy  Mark aside gently, so that it hovered before the fireplace, and hauled the coffee table over again, sitting on it and directly in front of him. "This next part is going to require another leap of faith on your part, I'm afraid, Malfoy. A big one."

"I am not fond of riddles, Lawrence, or is the fact that we are sitting here right now not indicative there? Get to the point.”

"Right, right. Sorry. Short translation: he's rigged the lock with a hex. It's designed, if someone tries to go in without invitation, to set off an explosion."

"And where will this explosion take place, exactly?" asked his host,  into the silence that followed.

"In your heart," Ren said bluntly. "And there's no way around it. If we proceed here today, I'll  have to set it off. What I can do beforehand though - and I wouldn't be offering if I weren't one hundred percent sure that I can manage it safely and effectively - is to inscribe a bio-runic fence - a real one, not the half-assed imitation he's got going on here - around your heart, so that it's protected once it all blows."


	9. Interlude (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: there are references here to bad things that happen to good people. Inferred extreme violence and non-con.

**Castelobruxo School**

**Brazil**

**September 20, 1970**

"It is a problem, _sim_?" Antonio Silva stood behind the marble podium at the front of the rearranged dining hall, folded arms resting on the slightly angled surface as he surveyed the students. He was dressed in his black robe again, the belt precise, the beads neatly strung. His wand holsters were strapped to his sleeves. Behind him sat several silent rows of teachers. "The wards of Castelobruxo have been breached. A lethifold slinks among us, hidden and hungry - one with a mind yet, and the focused ill-intent that has allowed it the temerity, in the premeditated, malicious manner, to attempt to satisfy its cravings within our walls."

Chairs squeaked uneasily.

"You are wondering, I am sure," he continued evenly. "How I can be certain. The steps, they are steep. The crowds were thick. Accidents, they happen _._ Yet... There is is. Here it is.  I have here before me three separate analyses of _Senhor_ Carriera's blood, performed by our three individual healers here at Castelobruxo again.  All report the same findings; _Senhor_ Carriera's system contains lingering concentrations of a shifting repressant - one that prevented his ability to shift to his Animagus form as his body, as are all of yours, is trained to do automatically - _automatically, without thought_ \- in times of vital danger. The reports also conclude that the concentrations indicate that that repressant was administered no more than twenty minutes before his fall. It is not difficult, mm, considering that Carriera sits in the same chair at the same table for every one of his meals here, to determine what happened? At some point in the hour before lunch hour - the hour when every student here has their break from classes - one of you sitting here before me now slipped into the prepared dining room and brushed the liquid potion over the dishes set out at his place."

Shocked gasps rang out.

"So surprised," he said ironically. "All of you. Sadly, I wish I could say the same."

The gasps were swallowed so quickly that Lucius, sitting at the end of the fourth row of his fellow sixth year students and within direct eyeshot of the priest, was genuinely surprised that no one physically choked on them. He permitted himself a small, sour smirk.

"We will handle the situation thusly," the priest continued. "After this meeting, I will return to my office. There, I will await any visitor who wishes to discuss his or her involvement in, or knowledge of, this profound and unfortunate display of ill manners. I will remain there till four precisely. If, at that point, I remain unenlightened, the chimes that summoned you to this meeting  will sound again,  and you will all return here. Attendance will be taken, and anyone missing will be located, detained, and invited to join us. At the point where all are confirmed present, _Senhora_ Professora Hernandez, as _Senhor_ Carriera's advisor, will take over the proceedings. If any one individual cannot be located - that is, if they have left the premises - the authorities from Manaus will be called in , and that individual will be hunted down with prejudice on the presumption of guilt. Once captured, he or she will be subjected to an immediate interview with a court-ordered Legilimens in order to verify involvement, or lack thereof, in this regrettable series of events."

Lucius watched as every face within eyeshot blanched.

"I would like to state," Silva said coolly, straightening and looking about. "Lest you, the perpetrator - and I address you directly now - think that you may direct my silence on the matter of your confession to me because I am a priest, that Jesus will be absent from my office today in His official capacity. I have been authorized - no, _assigned_ \- to act as a private citizen in this matter by my superior, so any statements made to me on the subject will comprise a legally binding confession to a representative of the school and that school's elected staff liaison to Castelobruxo School's Board of Governors. I would also like to remind you, all of you, on behalf of the Board of Governors, that should this matter remain unresolved... Attempted murder is a very serious crime, _sim_? If such a one, one willing to descend to such depths in planning, not just executing an impulsive urge, remains at large... Which of us can truly say that it is safe here? Keeping this school open while such a threat exists within its walls  would be irresponsible, to say the least."

There was a rather dire pause as that processed.

"You will close the school?" a small, very young voice said. "But... Padre... What of..."

It bit off. A protesting susurration began to rise, and not slowly either.

"It is a problem,"  Silva conceded. His voice rang out over the panicked cries. They silenced immediately. "As I have said. One that could easily be avoided if only _Senhor_ Carriera's attacker - or for that matter, anyone with any knowledge related -  were to review his or her position and come to the logical and responsible conclusion."

"You said attempted murder," a female voice said. "Does Carriera yet live then, Padre?"

"He does. And I am most pleased to inform you all that he will make a complete recovery. It is a good thing too, because if he had _not_ survived, the school _would_ now be closed, and you would all be on your way home till the investigation is resolved. As it is... The option will yet be reviewed in twenty four hours." The priest's gaze hardened as he looked around again. "You will listen to me now, all of you, and you will listen carefully. The only reason... The _only_ reason... That this grace period of twenty four hours has been granted you... That closure has not already occurred... Is because _Senhor_ Carriera has personally pled for leniency on behalf of those of you who were not involved in his attack. He knows very well he did not trip. He knows now of the repressant. He knows that someone in this school deliberately and with malice and forethought planned to, and attempted to, take his life. _He does not know who it is, or whether he is still at risk._ And yet for the sake of all of _your_ lives, _your_ safety, he requested - no, he _begged_ \- the Board of Governors, through me, their representative, that we allow you stay here where it is safe - for he _does_ believe that you are safe, and that this vicious and premeditated attack was but an extreme example of the personal, directed, and, as I may say it, completely unwarranted animosity shown him here at Castelobruxo by all of you again, every hour of every day."

Never mind dueling, if the International Masteries Board, Lucius Malfoy reflected, was ever inclined to hand out rewards for the art of the killingly inflicted mass guilt trip, the man before him was a guaranteed bloody bollocking Grandmaster.

"If the perpetrator comes to me," Silva continued deliberately. "And confesses his crimes, and his or her motives, the authorities will yet be involved, but the matter will be dealt with as privately as is appropriate. As privately as _Senhor_ Carriera has _requested_. If he or she does not come to me, I am telling that perpetrator now: you risk your crimes being  revealed in front of God and all, and the truth that your fellows will know you for what you are in entirety - not just an attempted murderer of one, but an attempted murderer who yet would have the unspeakable, unholy cowardice and temerity to risk the safety of _everyone here_ to save your own skin."

The students just sat there, paralyzed.

"Where is the Headmistress?" a voice from the crowd said timidly.

"The Headmistress has been dismissed by the Board of Governors for vital dereliction of duty. She was not the one who ordered Carriera's blood tests. I am sure that there is at least one of you here who is grateful to her for the fact, and quite put out with me for over-riding her there?"

Puzzled glances were exchanged. A small, entirely unpleasant smile grew on Antonio Silva's face.

"You did not know," he addressed his audience. "None of you, that I had that prerogative, did you? That prerogative that only a parent or registered Magical guardian of a student here at Castelobruxo can invoke on behalf of their legal relative?"

A sharp gasp rang out.

"So all is revealed," Silva said. "God is good. It would have been a hard blow indeed to lose the last of my family. I am so grateful that I am not, after all, forced to endure such a terrible evil as _that_. I truly do not know how I would manage without the comfort and joy that my lost brother's son brings to my life."

Lucius had to bite his lips with mirth at the expressions now of absolute pants-pissing terror sweeping over the room. Tom Riddle, he thought, could only dream of inducing the perfect horror reflected in the faces of the masses surrounding him.

"Carriera is your _nephew_?" someone blurted. "But... You never... Why has he never..."

"Should it have made a difference?"

"No, but..."

"Should you leave the qualifiers out of that sentiment,"  the priest said. " _Senhor_ Garcia, Jesus would be most pleased. _Senhora Professora_ Hernandez, I am hereby removing myself from the administration of these proceedings. I am going to my office now," he informed the gathered students. "Pray do not forget me? I will, I assure you, and much to my sorrow, remember this day always - and the names and faces of every one of you as you sit before me now, unable to say in all certainty that _any one_ of your fellows could _not_ have been guilty of this abhorrent and abominable sin against a boy whom you have all, always, so abused and hated, and who yet had the grace to remember each and every one of _you_ on what could have been his deathbed."

" _Obrigada_ , Padre," Inez Hernandez said pleasantly as Silva stepped down and she took his place. "May I say, to begin, that I am so glad you all had the good sense to obey Padre Silva's instructions and make yourselves so immediately available for this meeting? Your cooperation is noted and appreciated.  Before we continue with the formalities, let us make the one last attempt, for form's sake. Is there anyone here who has anything that they would like to share with the class?"

Not a breath sounded.

"No? Ah well. No one can say we did not offer the fair opportunity." There was a sudden blur. The room filled with screams and the crashing of chairs as a gigantic anaconda, thirty feet long and fully three across, reared up and lashed out over the audience before her, barely skimming the tops of the student's heads before slamming sideways and into the huge eastern window. Magically protected as it was, it held firm, though the stone walls around it trembled and shook, and a good half of the plants on the rafters overhead crashed down into the aisles...  It retreated just as suddenly as Inez Hernandez blurred back and stepped before the podium.

"I do not think," she said, her eyes flat ice as she scanned the rows. "That you, _murderer_ , fully understand the gravity of the situation here. If this school - _my_ school, for I have been deputized as Headmistress for the remainder of this school year - must be shut down because of a lack of resolution to this matter... If I must send unprepared innocents into the mouths of Evil Incarnate, and if _one hair_ on any of those innocents' heads is lost as a result... I am going to take it very, _very_ personally. You will not have to worry about imprisonment. You will not have to worry about lethifolds.  You will not have to worry about Padre Silva, or about Jesus Himself for that matter. What you will have to worry about is me. I _will_ discover your name; I, Inez-Constanzia Gutierrez de Hernandez, _will_ hunt you down,  and death... You will consider death, in the end, nothing but a blessing, do you understand me?"

That last 's' in 'understand' was an echoing sibilant hiss that made Lucius' ears ache.  A muted sob sounded, and another, and another.

"You will return to your classes," Castelobruxo's new Headmistress said. "Now." She caught Lucius' eyes and made a 'stay' motion. He sat while everyone scraped to their feet and headed out, casting covert looks at each other... When the last were gone...

"Tell me the truth now, _Senhor_ Malfoy," Professor Hernandez invited him as she stepped down from the raised dais and came to sit beside him. She tapped her wand on her closed fist; all of the shattered plants lying about promptly repotted themselves and rose back to rehang themselves from the rafters. "Was that a bit much?"

"No. Is he truly going to be alright?" Lucius asked her anxiously. "I know Father Silva said that he would be, and of course I do not think he would lie, but..."

"He will be in the hospital ward for a few days for observation, but he will be well. Would you like to stay with him?'

"On the ward itself?"

"Yes. He has been asking for you. He told Antonio that he is worried that you will be alone at this time, and unprotected with only your one half-hand. We are not worried, but stress is not good for him. If you wish to go to him now, you may. One of the house-elves will bring you your things, and a bed will be brought in for you. He is in quarantine right now for his own protection, but you are, obviously, an exception."

"What about classes?"

"Your assignments will be sent to you. And he is not ill any longer, not physically, but he is profoundly shaken and requires rest and time to recover. He will be delighted to tutor you as is necessary, I am sure."

Still, Lucius hesitated.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"I think it would be for the best," Hernandez said forthrightly. "He is unsettled. You are unsettled. Together, at least, you will be unsettled, if not immediately reassured, in mutually amiable company."

Lucius nodded.

"I would like that, then. _Senhora Professora_ Hernandez?"

" _Senhor_ Malfoy?" She smiled at his use of the quite exceedingly formal Brazilian honorific.

"Thank you," Lucius said awkwardly. "For... Everything."

He dried up, and ducked his head as if to hide behind an invisible curtain of hair. She kissed his cheek.

"Do you think there will be the necessary meeting, then?" he asked her. "At four?"

"I do. We are a continent whose children are raised to avoid direct confrontation in the name of self-protection. It is in our blood. Unless, of course..." There were sudden green and coppery glints in her hair, and her eyes were flat and shining again. "It is not." Lucius had to suppress a shudder.

"Will there be trouble over the Headmistress' dismissal?" he asked instead. "Will she file a protest?"

" _Nao_. She is an excellent administrator, but she too is a child of this country.  The tendency I just mentioned to avoid direct confrontation - a tendency exacerbated tremendously in one with no means to Change -  translates quite poorly for a woman in the particular position, and the incident has provided the conclusive proof that she should not have been recommended in the first place.  Carriera  was unconscious for two hours before Antonio saw him, and she continued to  reiterate her belief to the healers  throughout that it was an accident, never mind the witnesses that noted that he had not Changed. Another hour and the suppressant would have been out of his system, and all proof of the attack with it."

" _What_?"

"It would have been most convenient for her. There would have been no basis on which to initiate a formal investigation of this most difficult incident.  She does not like dealing with difficult incidents. Now..."  The small, round woman offered him a quite extraordinarily vicious smirk.  "Now she does not have to. God is good, mm?"

Lucius just ran a hand over the back of his neck as he watched her go. Once she was out of sight, he collected his satchel, hopped on his training broom, and made his way through the halls toward the hospital wing. The quarantine room, isolated from the others, was not only enclosed by walls and a door, but by several layers of shimmering, dense wards. They parted at his approach, closing behind him just as quickly as he stepped through. Before him, Ramone was dozing on a narrow white bed, clad in iridescent blue socks patterned with swimming goldfish, a pair of scarlet pajamas and a bright orange dressing gown. His face was turned to the window, and the string of beads that normally hung over his bedpost was wrapped loosely around his right hand.

"Carriera?" Lucius said tentatively.

"Luz!" His eyes flew open and he brightened immediately, sitting as Lucius entered - and squawked, startled, as his room-mate stepped off his broom, came swiftly over, and grabbed him up in a huge and unceremonious  hug. After a moment, Ramone's arms came up and about him uncertainly.

"I am fine, Luz. Truly."

"Never, _never_ ," Lucius said into his dark, unruly hair. " _Never_ scare me like that again, Carriera! As for the other... You are only fine because you were lucky. Please have a little more consideration for my sensibilities from now on? I have promised to remember you, and so I shall, but three weeks' acquaintance has not provided me with nearly enough memories to sustain me if you are lost."

"It was not intentional, I assure you." Ramone pulled back a little and touched the other boy's face, examining the tears on his fingertips with astonished uncertainty. "You are crying for me?"

"No. I'm crying for the treacle pud they serve at Hogwarts on Thursdays. You're an idiot, Carriera." Lucius wiped his eyes. "Not just a bit much, but an idiot."

"No one has ever...." His eyes widened as Lucius leaned in, slipping a hand around to cup the back of his head and cutting his words off with a passionate, open-mouthed kiss. Ramone froze immediately, but it only lasted a few seconds before the other boy pulled back and slid to the end of the bed.  

"What..."

"I will ask permission the next time. I am very good at it, I am told, in the specific context and my public aversion notwithstanding."

Ramone snorted in spite of himself.

"I am fine," he said again. "Though I think that I shall take to riding my broom down over the steps from now on." He pulled himself up a bit more against the stacks of pillows. His dark skin and bright night clothes shone brilliantly against the white sheets. The goldfish on his socks wiggled, flicking their tails and fins sedately. "I do not even have a headache."

"And what of the rest of you?"

"Healer Torres tells me that I should be grateful I was unconscious. I quite depleted the stocks of Skele-Gro before _Tio_ arrived."

Lucius winced.

"Are _you_ well?" Ramone asked, searching his face. "It is a stupid question, I know; _Tio_ told me you were alright, or would be, but as he would not allow you to see me before now, I would like to hear. He did not leave you alone last night, did he, in our room?"

"No, no. He offered me, or more accurately ordered me, to his sofa. He did not want me to be alone, I think, as you said. I was grateful. He is very kind. Frightening, but kind. Save again for when he is just frightening. Which he was, just now. By the time he was finished with the lot of them, there was not a dry seat left in the hall."

"Ah," Ramone said delicately. "Did he invoke Jesus?"

"Yes. Several times. He also informed them all that you are his nephew."

The pause that followed that was quite as dire as the one that had followed the initial declaration in the dining hall.

"What is it?"

"It is rude to ask," Ramone said after a moment. "Horribly, horribly rude. I cannot tell you how rude it is, in our culture... A positive taboo... But may I beg of you your complete memory of the occasion? I will return it, I promise."

"Why is it rude?"

"To ask another to give up a memory?" He offered him a cross-eyed look. "In a place where we are, and all those around us, are not just defined by, but _are_ our memories?"

"Ah. Well, of course. You may share whatever memories of mine you wish, Carriera, as long as you do return them. Do you have access to a pensieve?'

" _Tio_ has one, though I know a spell that makes it unnecessary. Truly?" Ramone did sit up at that, eyes wide and face glowing. "You mean it?"

"Of course. Well, not the private ones of me and Narcissa. Not unless you ask her, and she agrees. But anything else... Is there something especially that you have in mind?"

" _Sim_. I should very much like to see one of snow. I have never seen snow. And do you have any of hippogryphs?"

"Yes. I even have several of hippogryphs playing _in_ the snow. There may even be one of me riding a hippogryph in the snow during a Care of Magical Creatures class. Or flying over it, anyway. What do you need to perform the spell?"

"Just my wand. I extract the memory, or you do, and release it into my eyes. Then I see it as if through yours."

"I have never heard of it before."

"You would not have. It was designed by a member of _Tio_ 's religious order. It is used only by priests who have trained, too, as healers, and only then in cases of criminal incorrigibility. I am afraid..." He hesitated. "I will show you, but I am afraid that I will have to obliviate you of the memory of how it is done before you go home. Used in the wrong hands, it could be very dangerous. You can implant memories too, by using it, or even take away those that exist and replace them, you see, effectively turning a person into a completely different person. It is forbidden, but it can be done. And I am not supposed to know how to do it. I am not supposed to be _able_ to do it. It is very advanced, heh?"

"Did your uncle teach you?"

" _Nao_." He fiddled with the edge of the sheet, hesitating again. Then... "It is used in cases of criminal incorrigibility, yes, but it may also be used when an individual does not feel comfortable imparting memories via methods that might be intercepted."

Lucius looked at him. Ramone took a deep breath.

"I must tell you something of me now, Luz," he said. "I am not brave, not like you, but I must tell you. I have not had time to pray on it, as I said I would, but maybe that is  for the best, heh? If I pray on it, I will think on it, and then I might not be able to..."

He stopped.

"You do not have to tell me anything, Ramone."

"You went to the library?" he cut him off.

Lucius nodded. Ramone pulled his knees up. Lucius put his satchel on the floor and turned to face him cross-legged.

"It has to do with the circumstances around which I Changed," Ramone said. "In my first year. Seven years ago now."

"Seven..." Lucius' brow wrinkled, puzzled. "But this is only your sixth year."

"It is. I took... I had to take a little vacation between my first and second years here, you see? I have told you, or rather you believed, that I am sixteen, like you. I am not. I will be eighteen next January."

"I see." He did not. Ramone's fingers, and eyes, returned to the edge of the blanket.

"I Changed very suddenly," he said. "In the single moment, heh? There were no symptoms before. No signs. I had studied the meditative techniques, and practiced a little, and taken the first of the necessary potions - the one that introduces the magical core to the idea that permanent change is possible, as you introduce the forms and sounds of the letters of the alphabet to a child beginning to learn to read - but that is all. The first stages, especially, cannot be rushed, because it is not just  case of transforming the body. It is a case of altering the magical core to accommodate for the two true versions of the same individual. It must learn to accept that both can co-exist permanently and safely, and that the one is as valid as the other, and at first, it does not think it quite natural. It resists. If one is careful and gentle, it begins to understand, and to even become a little excited at the idea. It adapts a little at a time, a symptom here, a hint there... Over months and years. Like a rose blooming from a bud. At eleven, though... At eleven, there is is no bud. There is not even a seed. I was no different. As a child, when I came here... I was bright. Very bright, but my core, it was as anyone else's my age: a little shy, heh, and wondering at the possibilities. A little unbelieving, and very naturally strong yes, but... Untaught. Unfocused. Undeveloped."

His voice was soft and unsteady. Lucius suddenly wanted, desperately, more than anything he had ever wanted in his life, to move up beside him and put his arm around him. He dared not.

"When I Changed," the young Brazilian said. "It was so sudden, so violent, so extreme a bout of accidental magic,  that it broke my  core open. All the potential that  should have developed so gradually and naturally over years... It was all released and formed all at once. The force of that released power... It broke...  Me.  Physically. Nearly every bone I had was splintered. My organs were very nearly all destroyed. The released power coalesced around me, and held me together in my new form till _Tio_ arrived. The only part of me that remained whole was my head and my brain. Most of the focused power was centered there, on maintaining that. As I was in frog form... _Tio_ healed me first, in that form. Once that was done... I was too frightened to return to human form. They had to force it. I fought them, or rather, my magic did. When I transformed back, I was very nearly in as bad a shape as I had been before."  

Lucius struggled for horrified breath.

"It took me a long time to recover. Over a year. The physical... It was the least of it. _Tio_ took care of that for me, as I said. With his tears. Mostly, it was my magic. He had to tame it. To teach me to tame it. To go from the equivalent of a newborn's power levels to that of an adult, an adult with very nearly _Tio's_ potential, if not his experience and training but without the ability to control or focus that magic... You can imagine what it was like. I was a danger to everyone around me. So he took me away for a year, deep into the jungle where I could harm no one. He took a leave of absence from the Church, though he had their blessing. He was the only one with power enough to tame mine, heh? And while we were there, he made me my new wand. A wand that would understand me and my pain, that would love me and only me, and that by its very nature must dedicate itself to me and bring me to a mental place where I could feel safe through its designated vocation of active and targeted protection of me from all assaults both within and without."

He pulled his feet up. The goldfish were gone, disappeared over the cuffs of his socks and hiding within.

"I do not truly need it," he said. "Or I do... But not to perform magic. I perform almost all magics wandlessly now. It is another trait I share with _Tio_ , though of course we do not advertise the fact. For us, it is like your blue eyes, not something that we work for, The ability is just... There. You will see now, if you watch carefully, that I only truly use it - my wand, that is -  as such in Potions classes. The rest of the time... It is like a prop, heh? In truth, it serves that other purpose entirely."

"But..." Lucius couldn't help himself. "All of the jinxes and hexes that are aimed at you..."

"My wand, as my protector, permits them. It would protect me from those too, but it would not help me if people saw their efforts making no effect whatsoever. It insisted at first, but then we had a little talk. It was very annoyed, but it conceded. And yesterday... My wand did not detect the repressant because it was not technically a danger to me.  And when I fell, there was no spell involved; I was pushed from among a crowd. I felt the hands, and the push. My wand, it tried to override the repressant then. If there had been a few more moments... But there were not, and it was knocked away from me besides. It is easier to help me, if it is touching me."

"It was not damaged, was it? And... It _is_ intelligent?"

" _Nao_ , it is fine. There is nothing of this earth that can harm it save for my death. And... _Sim_. It is, but only, we believe, because I require it of it," he said carefully. "In circumstances where I am at risk. Which is to say, from my perspective - and therefore _its_ perspective - constantly. It is a bit of a mystery, truly. _Tio_ is fairly sure that it does not operate as with its own mind or brain, but that the magics involve imitate patterns of human intelligence - my human intelligence - so closely that there is no discernible difference."

He shifted, pulling the pillow over his lap as Lucius sorted through that, or tried to.

"While he tamed me," Ramone continued. "He would sometimes invite a friend to visit us. A fellow priest, or rather his bishop - one who guides and trains priests - and who is trained as a Mind Healer. We would talk. He helped me with the mental and emotional trauma of what had happened.  And when I returned to Castelobruxo for my second year, _Tio_ came with me. I was not ready to leave him, or him to leave me. They hired him immediately when he applied, of course. He arranged for me to have my own room. No one questioned it. My wand made sure of it." He picked the the sheet. "It was difficult at first. I was not... I was difficult to be around. Unsettled. Not magically, but emotionally. It annoyed the other children. I annoyed them. Frightened them a little, even. I did not intend to, and after a little, I settled, but... It had set the bad precedent, heh? By the time I calmed, I had the reputation for being a bit much. There was only so much _Tio_ could do, because no one knew, aside from Professora Hernandez, that he was my uncle.”

"Why not?"

"Because the Board of Governors insisted, as a condition of my return. They wanted no connections made between us, because of the circumstances  of the incident that broke my core. They had already made sure that no one at the school remembered it - there are means to make it so - but it is a delicate operation when so very many people involved, heh, and sometimes, there is something that sets off a mental association that can bring it all back for someone. That could not be allowed, they said, not in this case, for vital reasons, and so they tended to every last possibility, every possible link, before I was allowed to return - including the student populations’ very remembrance that I had ever been there at all.”

" _What_?"

"The incident that broke my core was the incident I told you of, that made _Senhora Professora_ Hernandez so angry.  She was the one who found me. Who called in _Tio_. And the Headmistress before the one we have- had - now... She had been here for a very, very long time. What had happened to me though... It would not.." He struggled. "It was not her fault. It was in no way her fault. She was a wonderful woman. Very kind and reasonable, and profoundly respected. But one of the boys involved..." He looked down at his hands, now tugging compulsively at a loose thread. "He was her son. And because of the nature of the incident again, and because he and his friends were seventh years... It was decided by the Board of Governors that  it was best if no one were to know of what happened. Castelobruxo is the only school in South America, you see? There are no other options for the students here, if..."

The thread snapped.

“So they _erased_ you?” Lucius repeated, his voice rising in his agitation. “ _They erased you in the minds of everyone here?_ As if you never… Like they do the Nomaji? After everything that you’d gone through _already_? And then they wouldn’t even allow you the private in-house comfort of your own _uncle_?”

"He was still here. Has been. They cannot - could not - take that away. It was not the Headmistress’ idea, or her fault," Ramone said again, not looking up. "She was a good woman. But her son... She retired at the end of that year. She was not fired, but she did retire. She could not... She saw the results, heh? She saw _me_. And in me, she saw the truth of what he was. It is not easy to realize that one has raised a lethifold. That one has allowed it in the house, when one has sworn to protect the house. So she left, because she refused to allow them to make her forget what he was and what he had done and what she had not seen in him, and I have heard since that when he was lost six months afterwards he was expelled, she did not go to his memorial."

Lucius pressed his hands to his face. Despite...everything… that had happened in the last few days, he had, till that very moment,  never realized that it was possible to _feel_ one’s heart crack and break.

"You said that he was _one_ of the boys involved?" he said quietly.

"Some cannot Change,” Ramone said. “The ones with the allergy to Mandrake... They know there is no hope. They adapt. They learn other ways to protect themselves. The ones, like our Headmistress now, who simply cannot manage it... They hope. They reach a point where they must realize, and it is difficult. They are angry. They are afraid. They..."

He paused.

"They live while they can," he said finally. "As ones who are already lost. Mostly, they live while they can with each other. One of them, though... Not the Headmistress' son, but his closest friend... I did not ... I would have liked him to be my angel. I did not talk about it, of course. I did not understand it, at that age. I did not understand myself. But he did. His friends did. And there was a night, when I went for a walk about the castle. It is so big, _sim_ , so many corners? I took a wrong one. And I.... He was going into a washroom. ' _Boa noite, Senhor_ Carriera'  he said, 'You are far from the dormitories, are you lost? We cannot have that; come in and wait for me a moment, and then I will show you the way back." I was not lost, I knew where I was going by then, but I had not known he knew my name. That he had ever noticed me, truly, much less remembered me. So I went into the washroom, and all his friends were there. They were smoking and drinking. And I was nervous, and said that I would leave, but they locked the door, and..."

Sixteen-year-old Lucius Malfoy’s cracked heart seemed to dissolve in his chest, crumbling to soft, dry dust.

"I prayed." Ramone's chin was lifted, his eyes were bright and defiant and as carefree as he could manage. "And God was good. I prayed very hard, and He heard me, and answered. I Changed. Professora Hernandez's study was right below, and the explosion, it made a large hole in her ceiling then, heh? I slid through, just as I was Changing. The Headmistress' son, and his friends too.  She saw my face before... And she saw _them_ , none of them looking very dignified at all, and that was all there was to be said about _that_."

Lucius buried his face in his arms again. it was so quiet he could hear Ramone's breathing.

"Are they dead." he said, from his arms.

"I do not know. I had heard of the Headmistress' son, but I did not see the rest of  them after that day. I did not see anyone for a very long time, and then only _Tio_."

"How could he bring you _back_ here? How could he bear to?”

"He would have wanted to come anyway, with me or without me. Once he understood how they intended to manage the problem… He could not in good conscience stay away. _The students have no other options besides this place_ , and he saw when he returned to help me that it was possible - more than possible - that if they had made such arrangements over me, that  such things had happened before and could, and would, happen again. And with the memories of those things always dissolved… Who would be left to remember and to make sure it does not happen again? There are very, very few people, Luz, who have the strength of mind, and magic, to resist a team of truly determined Obliviators. They did not even dare _try_ with Tio. He is a man of God, but I am the only member of his family he has left, heh? He was born of a large family: seven brothers and sisters, parents, grandparents… And _every single one of them_ has been lost. Every _one_. Lucifer… It is said in certain circles that  he takes Antonio Silva personally, and has set out to destroy him, if not physically, then mentally.”

“How could _you_ bear to come back?”

Ramone rubbed his eyes.

“I had  friends here, then,” he said. “Ones who had promised to remember me, even, but whom _Tio_ had told me would not be allowed to. I wanted, very badly… I wanted to meet them again. Even if they did not know me any longer, I wanted to be with them. It became an obsession with me as I recovered. Made nothing, my name and memory stolen... I was not dead, I said, but I was still lost. I could not let it go. Finally, _Tio_ agreed for my sanity’s sake,  but only if he would be here too, he said. If they had not accepted him as a teacher, he and my parents would have sent me away. He has several good friends in France; one of whom teaches at Beauxbatons. When I came back, Professora Hernandez and he... Together they are like my parents here. We do not talk of it, but they help me always. Sometimes it is still very hard. Sometimes ... It is why I have the Nightshade potion. His friend the bishop makes it for me. It is not illegal, because he is a licensed Mind Healer, as I said, and I am still his patient. And I do not sleep much, some nights. Sometimes several nights in a row. It helps, and increases the efficacy."

"I have never seen you have trouble sleeping."

"That is because I have been taking the potion since you arrived. And sleeping as a frog. I do not dream as a frog, not like I do as a human, but humans need to dream, so I cannot always do it."

"You've been taking it every _night_ ?" Lucius was horrified. "Since I _arrived_? Ramone, that is not safe! You are not supposed to take it more than twice a month!"

"I know. And it is not... It is not the reason I am telling you this. But now that you know, I will stop. For as long as I can, anyway. We will want to start casting silence spells, heh?"

"Why would they put me in with you in the first place?"

"I asked them to. You were assigned to Professora Hernandez, before you came. I saw your file on her desk. There usually several exchange students from Hogwarts. Some years, as many as six. This year, you were the only one. I was surprised, heh?  Tio was worried when I suggested the possibility. He said that you were perhaps not ideal. He told me about you, a little. Of your family's prejudices. But Professora Hernandez was there, listening too as we were having tea in his quarters, we do sometimes, and she said she thought it was a good idea. That we should try it. And see what my wand said about you, and if it did not like you, you could always be moved to another room. She was very stubborn too."

'Why did you ask?"

"I do not know," Ramone admitted. "I thought... It would be nice to have a friend again? I had not really wanted one after I returned and saw my others look through me as if I had never existed. But it is lonely, sometimes, being the crazy cousin. So I prayed to God to send me a friend, and  that evening, I saw your file on the desk, and knew that you would have none of _your_ friends here since no one came from Hogwarts this year but you, so..." His shoulders tightened beneath the bright red pajamas. "I will understand now, if..."

 _"If?_ " Lucius stared at him. "You actually, _actually_ think that I will wish to stop being your friend because of what you  have just told me?"

"I do not know. I have never told anyone before. And there is your angel's letter, and you have said that you are attracted to me, and I am..." He buried his face in his arms. "I want you, Luz, but I am just so... I am so afraid."

"Carriera," he said helplessly. And then... "Ramone. I have told you. _It is completely up to you_ ! It is how I _prefer_ it, that it be up to you! I was not lying when I said that!"

"That does not help. The way that you have said that you are... I would feel like I was forcing you. Hurting you."

"This is not a necessary component of our relationship, Ramone. I do not..." He struggled. "As for my inclinations… It is not... Maybe I am strange in my own way. It is not really about sex."

"Uh?"

Lucius Malfoy pressed his fingers to his eyes.

"I will be quite upset," he said. "If you tell your uncle this. He will take blatant advantage."

"Go on." He looked curious.

"The anger that I feel," Lucius said. "The rage and humiliation. It is not ... It is not at being forced to bend. It is at my own realization that he obviously understands that it is how I am; that on certain levels I _am_ naturally inclined, and that he is determined to, as you said, train me to love him. So that I will be able to identify the contrasts when I am presented with a master who does not know love, and my instincts will not carry me along the wrong path. And yes, it may be necessary, but it is still embarrassing!"

"Are you attracted to him? Physically?"

"No, no.  No, it has nothing to do with that. He is simply... Kind.  He is going to reach a point, there will be a point, where he realizes that there is nothing I would not do for him for that kindness. It has already started. The Headmistress came in.  I was doing my homework on the floor. At his feet. She criticised him for it. He had just… I had just eaten. It had been, quite possibly, the single most humiliating experience of my entire life. And I _still_ wanted to hex her where she stood for her insolence to him!"

"He has that effect," Ramone conceded. "So you protest because you do not wish the others to see that you enjoy his lessons?"

"’Enjoy' is a bit of a strong word,” Lucius said. "But after yesterday… I think they will be easier.”

"What happened yesterday?”

"He took me to our tree-house. It was filled with singing orchids. Professor Hernandez was there. She stayed with me, watching over me as I slept. As a snake. I felt like my pain mattered to them. Like I mattered to them. To _him_."

“And you do not think you do?" His room-mate offered him an odd look. "Luz, do you really think he would put himself through this if you did _not_ matter to him?’

"What is _he_ going through?"

"He is causing you pain! He knows he is causing you pain! It is absolutely antithetical... His form... Phoenixes _heal,_ Luz! They embody healing. They exist, in their purest sense, _to_ heal; they are attracted naturally to those in agony so that they might comfort them. He is doing what is necessary, but it goes against his very _nature_! Did he not tell  you at the beginning of your lessons that he is not training you in his usual manner?"

"Yes, but he said that it is because most do not respond well to the methods."

"And this is true, but there is much more than that. It pains him to see anyone suffer, even through necessity, so if he can find an alternative, if there is any possible, possible alternative... He will find it, and use it."

"But..."

Ramone pressed his fingers to his temples.

"There is more," he said. "You must know. It may help you understand. He will be angry with me, perhaps, but you must know."

"Ramone..."

"When _Tio_ goes against his nature as a phoenix," Ramone said clearly. "It affects him physically, as a human. He can transform at will, but he does not often burn. He has done so less than a handful of times in his life. Always, always before... There is a period of great personal struggle and anxiety. He does not die when he transforms and burns, but he does face God. He must ask Him, every time, for the privilege of returning. For the sake of God's children who yet need him. One day, he knows, God will say no. Or perhaps, he will simply not have the strength to will himself to return. With you, with this... He believes it is God's will that he risk himself for you. He believes it God's will, but he yet has the _choice_ , Luz. There are other ways to train you. If he has chosen this one; as he _has_ chosen this one... You matter to him. You matter enough for him to _die_ for you, should God will it."

Lucius stared at him, face dead white.

"What," he said. "What."

"You _matter_ to him," Ramone repeated. " _Personally_. He does not care about this world’s battles, Malfoy-from-England, or who wins them or loses them. He cares about souls, and the world beyond, and helping those souls understand who and what they are, so that when the Long Night that comprises the life of the world, and our lives in this world, is over, we will all be together as one with God. As he- we - believe God wishes it. As it is a place of no shadows, there can be nothing of the shadows there. He is choosing to do this for you, not so that you may fight the shadows, but because he does not wish you to _become_ one. He wishes you to be with God with him. As one, now, that he has declared - in private, through his revelation of self to you - that he wishes to remember.”

"I... But... _Why_? Why would he... It makes no sense!"

“It does not matter if it makes sense. It simply is what it is. _He_ is who he is, and you are not yet who you might be, and as you do not seem to be able to believe that you truly matter, and as that pains you, you, in your pain, now matter _to_ him.” He smiled a little. “It is difficult sometimes, heh, to determine whether he is a man who becomes a phoenix, or a a phoenix who becomes a man? I would say, either way… That he has decided that it is God’s will that you create a bond with him as as a man does, very occasionally, _with_ a phoenix. You told me that he has shown you what he is, heh? He has not even shown _me_ that, not fully and intentionally. I have seen him as such, but it is not the same thing. No, it is not the same thing at all.”

The wand in Lucius’ his left sleeve warmed slightly.

"I cannot allow him to do this," the young Englishman said helplessly. "I do not want him to risk death for me. How do I tell him that he cannot do this?"

"Who are you to tell him that he cannot? We love those we love, my Luz. I, of all people - of _all_ people - know _that_.”

"He has known me for less than three weeks!"

"I have known you for less than three weeks, and I would make the same choice."

Lucius ran his hands over his face at that. Carriera actually laughed at him, albeit softly.

"This is the danger in praying, heh?  Sometimes God answers. I asked Him  to send me a friend. He sent me a friend. And then I asked Him, maybe too, if it would not be too much trouble or a true offense to Him, to send me an angel, and what is borne to my room from this world’s farthest shores but one with the name and the face of the fairest and most loved of them all?"

"The one who caused all your problems in the first place, through his _pride_!"

"The one that God will yet raise highest again, should he humble himself willingly and bend to His will," Ramone said firmly. "How could _Tio_ not love you, my Luz, when he sees how you break yourself - are breaking yourself - to obey him? To become what you truly are, toward the end of serving others?"

"My alternatives," Lucius Malfoy said dryly. "Are not all that."

"They are still your alternatives, and you have yet chosen this path. For better or worse, he is choosing to walk it with you."

"And what if his concern for me takes him away from _you_?"

"Ah well. It is a calculated risk on his part, but when all is said and done, his level of risk will depend directly on how difficult you make things for yourself, and him. So perhaps this is why I am telling you all this after all, so that you may have all the facts at hand when determining just how important your pain and your pride is to you?”

"Isn't my suffering part of the point of this? That I’m supposed to be working through my pain at the prospect of breaking?”

Ramone shrugged.

"That too is your choice. You may choose to suffer with it, certainly, but it does not have to be that way. Doing something for someone else, it is always easier than doing it for your own reasons, I think, so if you wish, you may simply  choose to accept what he is offering you, and to offer him the gift of your genuine and yes, loving, efforts in return. Because he will not withdraw now. That... That is _his_ choice. And you have no right to take it from him, any more than those boys had the right to my name and memory."

Lucius was silent. Ramone lifted his head and smiled at him a little, before lowering it again.

"I am very tired," he said. "I am sorry. I must rest now."

"It is alright." Lucius slid off the bed, and moved to the second that had appeared in the interim. He lay down on his side, facing him.  "Would it help, do you think, when you have trouble sleeping, to sleep beside me?"

Ramone actually snorted at that. Lucius laughed and held out his hand. Ramone reached out across the distance between them, and took it. He blurred... Lucius placed the tiny frog in his hand carefully on his pillow, and closed his eyes. He had almost drifted off, when he felt the bed shift, and a long, thin body lying not beside him, but behind him, and a long, bundled arm slip over him tentatively.

"This is nice too," Ramone said. " _Sim_?"

"Mm. Very nice. Is this much accepted here in Brazil, then?"

"Go to sleep, Malfoy-from-England. Dream of snow. When you wake, we will share the memory."

"Do you have one to share with me?"

"I will show you the one where I cut _Tio'_ s hair the first time. You will laugh; he looked like a plucked chicken. You have truly ridden a hippogryph?"

"Yes. The experience is highly over-rated, I assure you."

"Perhaps it is one of those things one should do just so that one may say one has done it?"

"I have done it, and if you enjoy the memory that much, you may keep it. It is not one I care to revisit frequently."

"Why not?"

"Because the one I was forced to ride was so impressed by my pride, arrogance and aristocratic gentlemanly manners that I was truly afraid that she would petition my father for my hand in marriage. She broke out of her paddock every morning for three months and would wait on the roof by the front steps of the school for me to emerge so that she could sweep down and offer to carry me away. It was traumatizing, to say the least, and the jokes about the kind of birds who found Malfoy attractive were not amusing. Slang term," he elaborated at the puzzled look aimed at the back of his head. "Girls are birds, boys are blokes."

" _Sim_ , of course. _Obrigado._ And what did your angel think of this?"

"Oh, she adored the bloody thing. She'd go down to the kitchens every afternoon and get raw steaks from the house-elves and hand them off to her like owl-treats. The jokes there about her upgrading from my broomstick were as obvious as you might imagine."

Ramone could do nothing but lie back and howl.


	10. Wednesday Afternoon (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eliot references abound. If you want to look them up, Prufrock and The Hollow Men are where it's at. :)
> 
> M/F lemons.

**Malfoy Manor**

**The Garden Room**

After the world had ended, on a long-ago day and several universes away, thirty-four year old Charles Septimus Weasley stood at the window of his hospital room, gazing out at a small garden lot that yet had the audacity to remain green, and at a sky that dared to remain blue.

 _It’s cancer,_ the healer had said. _I’m sorry, Charlie._

There was no bang, and he’d been too bemused to whimper. The healer squeezed his hand and stepped out quietly, closing the door behind her. She was a good healer. A decent human being, who understood that there were times when the only thing to be done _was_ to step out and close the door behind you.  Charlie watched the knob turn and still, and lying  back on the pillow, stared up at the ceiling. Then he pushed back the sheet, got up, went to the closet and dug out his street clothes. Tossed the gown aside, and hauled on his jeans and t-shirt, padding over to the window and drawing back the curtains… Behind him, the door swung open again.

“Bugger off,” he said, not turning around.

“I’ve got your lunch, Mr. Weasley,” the orderly said after a moment, timidly.

“And I’ve got cancer,” Mr. Weasley returned. “Bugger off, I said.”

The orderly buggered obediently. The door closed. Charlie turned around. The lunch tray was still there. He made his way over and removed the lid over the plate. A glutinous mass of macaroni cheese wibbled querulously up at him, alongside a small dish of sprouts-in-mourning. He put the lid on, fished in the pocket of his jeans, then pressed the call button. The nurse appeared promptly. She made no comment on his clothes.

“Mr. Weasley,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

He handed her the handful of coin.

“Steak and kidney and chips from the Leaky,” he directed. “And a bottle of Ogden’s.”

“Of course, sir.”

She stepped out, taking the tray with her. Charlie returned to the window. The grass was still green, the sky still blue. He sat sideways on the deep padded ledge and pulled his feet up, resting his arms on his denimed knees and tilting his head back. Twenty minutes later, the nurse was back with his order. She set it up for him, then cracked the bottle of whiskey and passed it over.

“Anything else I can help you with?” she inquired, as she half-turned toward the door.

Charlie considered that, and her.  She was quite a few years younger than him, and pretty…  Her eyes were wide and starry with solicitous sympathy. It wasn’t a good look on her, but her pert, round little arse, snugged cozily into her white uniform, was working overtime to compensate.

“Dunno,” he said, and knocked back a hefty slug of the whiskey. “Fancy a shag?”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“It wouldn’t be a pity shag,” he offered. “More of a ‘the world just ended; let’s go out with a bang’ shag.”

The lock clicked and the silence spell hummed. Thirty seconds later, the nurse was bent over the window ledge, uniform skirt hiked to her waist and knickers tossed aside, and the second deep swig of Ogdens’ was burning all the way down… Charlie moved behind her, unfastened his jeans with one hand,  knocked back a third shot, then set the bottle aside and grabbed her bare hips.

“Name’s Charlie,” he said as he cast a quick _lubricatus_ and, bracing his bare feet, flexed his knees, positioned himself, and shoved and ground forward hard - hard enough to lift her half off her feet with it, even as his hand slipped around and tweaked deftly.  She screamed loudly, then gave way to his girth abruptly, clamping around him hard. He just rubbed steadily, and just as she was about to go off again, he pulled his hand away and withdrew.  She cursed at him loudly. He shoved forward again, offering her a light, stinging slap on the rear. She jumped, startled. It did quite delightful things in terms of internal friction.

“That wasn’t very lady-like, was it?” he said reprovingly as he began to screw her hard, in rough, full strokes. “Also, don’t say ‘bugger’ again ‘less you mean it. I’m a dragon wrangler, and I work with Horntails. No metaphors allowed there.”

She just moaned and groaned and twisted and shoved back in response, trying to grab for his hand, at least at first, but he held firm and pinked her nice round little arse for her three more times in increasingly sharp reminder till she gave over and asked nicely, and the grass  remained green, and the sky blue. When it was over,  she slipped into the loo to tidy up, and Charlie hauled his jeans up and retrieved the bottle.

“Your steak and kidney’s gone cold,” the nurse noted as she straightened her name tag and unlocked the door.

“Ah well,” he said. “There’s always tea to take, and cakes and ice.” He’d swigged a  fourth time. “And toast and marmalade, and of course, more tea. But I digress. Thanks, darlin’. You were great.”

“You’ve got my number,” she said, nodding to the button, and slipped out. Charlie pulled his knees up again, then maneuvered onto his back, there on the ledge, and stretched his legs up vertically along the wall. His arm fell loosely. He set the bottle aside and closed his eyes. There were days, he reflected, that one bit of Eliot worked just as well as the other, or perhaps just _with_ the other, as with the referenced toast and tea... The wrangler's preferred personal default was actually butter and crumpets, but when it came down to issues of rhythm and meter, one simply Did Not Argue with The Man.

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way  the world ends_

_This ..._

"... explosion take place, exactly?" a man’s voice asked,  in the green-grassed and blue-skied silence. Charlie Weasley-Cartwright opened his eyes. Narcissa Black Malfoy’s face, opposite him, was suddenly white as the white and black of Eliot's waves: her sea-green, sea-girl eyes stilled and hollowed and drowning.   _Eyes I dare not meet in dreams/in death’s dream kingdom/ these do not appear/sunlight on a broken column/There is a tree swinging/and voices are_

"In your heart," Ren said bluntly. "And there's no way around it. If we proceed here today, I'll  have to set it off. What I can do beforehand though - and I wouldn't be offering if I weren't one hundred percent sure that I can manage it safely and effectively - is inscribe a bio-runic fence - a real one, not the half-arsed imitation he's got going on here - around your heart, so that it's protected once it all blows.”

* * *

 

Lucius Malfoy rubbed his cheek. Under his jacket, under his waistcoat, under his shirt, Charlie felt the tattoo stir slightly on his shoulder, as if in now-impossible response... One really had to wonder, he mused as he watched his mate's equivalent poke its snout and gleaming eyes out from under his shirt-sleeve again, and no matter all the prior night's evidence to the contrary, whether Horntails considered death (and impossibility, for that matter) matters of the personally irrelevant metaphor after all... Certainly, they weren't seeming to process the concept of  'Going On', not without the correlative of 'Coming Back'. 

Either that, and more likely, they were just really big fans of the long, drawn-out and melodramatic false exit scene. Again, as if in response to the thought, Ren's tattoo twisted its head and gleamed at him from under the Warder's sleeve... Charlie definitely heard a faint snigger emanating from around the vicinity of his own collar, and scratched briefly and hard. The snigger turned to a purr, then slithered down his spine where it belonged.

"I would be lying, Lawrence," Lucius said. "If I were to tell you that..."

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, struggling. The black pupils of Narcissa’s eyes were grey ash, crumbling to dry white before Charlie’s own eyes. 

_Should I, after tea and cakes and ices/ have the strength to force the moment to its crisis..._

The fingers pressed harder.

“I am afraid," Lucius Malfoy said starkly. "I want to be free, but I do not want to die."

Narcissa moved slightly, convulsively - and husband and wife both jumped violently as Ren’s hands moved up, his fingers slipping around the taller man’s wrists as he pulled his hands away from his face.

 _"_ You are not going to die," Ren said. He let go of Lucius’s wrists, but only to take his hands, holding them firmly in his own. "Not today, and never, _never_ by my hand. If I didn't know that I could do this without harming you - without harm _to_ you - I wouldn't try. I would tell you that I couldn't  - _wouldn't_ \- do it, and we would find another way."

"You just said there is no other way!"

Ren brushed his former statement off as so much metaphor, somehow managing the dismissive finger-flick without loosing the other man's now white-knuckled grip one iota.

"Right now and in this particular moment, yes, but there's always another way waiting around the corner. Always. It's just a matter of time and research. And whether you choose to trust my word when I say I can do this right here and now, or whether you say 'Lawrence, perhaps we should explore future possibilities before making the final decision', the choice is yours. Either way... I'm with you. One way or the other, Lucius Malfoy -" The Warder's soft, husky voice was calm and mild yet, his tone unchanged - and perhaps that was the point there after all -  _(all manner of things shall be well: It's all I know, it's everything I know, it's who I am, it's what I am) - "_  I am _with_ you."

And the sudden scent of soft, sun-ripe peaches flooded the room, and the taste of them filled Charlie Weasley-Cartwright’s mouth. He rose to his feet and came around the table. The Malfoys’ sofa extended itself. He seated himself deliberately not beside Lucius, but beside Narcissa. He did not touch her, but she shifted a bit, not away, but toward him, unconsciously, as if leaning into the radiating heat of his body. He watched as the white pallor there warmed and tinted slightly, as with again, the faintest hue of peaches, and his eyes hooded over in pleased satisfaction.

"What would you have to do?" Lucius was asking Ren.  “Exactly?”

"Inscribe a fence around your heart, as I said. Not internally, though the sequences might sting a bit as they sink in, along the lines of a really bad case of pins and needles."

"Is there anything else in there we need to worry on?" Narcissa asked, nodding to the proxy Mark hovering by the fire.. “Besides the particular hex?”

"The standards.” Ren shrugged. “Nothing deathly and certainly nothing that I can’t neutralize once the door’s open. The basic summoning spells and the associative pain hexes were actually set under the bottom layer of the runic sequences, properly, through traditional Dark methods - Riddle obviously didn’t want to take any chances there; they’re the point of the entire Mark after all - but even though he set them properly, that’s where he made his vital mistake. Bio-runes and blood magic aren’t antithetical, and can be made to work together in a complementary manner that can enhance the effects of both, but you can’t just sit them on top of each other and expect them to make nice for the mere fact of applied pressure and proximity. You have to wire them together, runically speaking, or a lot of the raw magic used to power them both puddles between them, rather than flowing evenly throughout the layers. Long enough, and it’s like water under a foundation, right? Magic likes to be told what to do, to have something to do, and when it doesn’t, it  works on providing its own entertainment. It prods and pokes, and goes exploring, soaking through, in this case, the holes in the badly set layers, and the spells beneath, softening things up all around. That not only furthers the inherent instability of the sequences that define the working parameters of the bio-runes, but makes it a lot simpler to slip in and dismantle things. Bit like pulling weeds out of loose, damp earth, yeah, rather than having to go digging.”

"Ah.” Lucius said blankly, and then, suddenly and decisively, straightening his broad shoulders - “Very well. As we were, then. First the shield, then the sword."

"To confirm... You're in all the way?" Soft, calm, husky, solid... The world, too, straightened its shoulders in response to the reassuring immovable there, and resumed its normal patterns. "For the removal of both hex and Mark?"

"Yes. Before we begin though... May I have a moment with Narcissa?"

"Of course." Ren rose to his feet, as did Charlie. The two stepped out, shutting the door and leaning against the opposite wall together. When it opened several minutes later, there was the distinct odor of mint, and their hosts were composed again, if both red-eyed and swollen-mouthed... Narcissa squeezed her husband's hand and seated herself on her original sofa.

 "Is there something I should be doing now?" Lucius asked uncertainly as Ren retrieved a pack of biros from his waistcoat pocket, and looked at him expectantly.

"Yes. Strip to the waist and make yourself comfortable."

“Erhm. What?”

“It’s a very nice shirt you’ve got there, but it doesn’t really need warding, yeah? Ink’s gotta go on the bare skin.”

"Do it, Luke,” Narcissa ordered crisply. “Do  you need anything else, Master-Adept?”

"Nope. I'm all set.” 

"How often have you had to do this sort of thing before, mate?" Charlie asked as Lucius shrugged out of his robe and waistcoat, then loosened his second sleeve and unbuttoned his collar. "Specifically? In this kind of context, even?"

"Often enough. Dark Wankers do tend to work the variations on the same themes. No imagination at all. Which  isn't to say I don't need to concentrate, so while I have no problem with you two watching, Charlie and Narcissa, quiet is imperative." Ren tucked a biro behind each ear and turned to face the patient. "Alrighty then. I think we're good to..." He blinked.  Lucius looked down at him as he folded his shirt neatly and passed it off to his wife.

“Yes?” he inquired.

"Nothing, I." It was Ren’s turn to looked disconcerted. "All’s good, I just... For some reason I didn’t think you’d have chest hair." He turned fiery crimson, even as the words left his lips... Charlie grabbed his remaining whiskey and slurped hastily. The guffaw escaped anyway. Narcissa rolled her eyes at him, but her lips, too, twitched. Lucius  just cleared his throat and cast them both an extremely austere Look.

"You can grow it back magically," the Warder offered. "After I'm done. But for now..."

"I understand." The taller man reached for his own wand, handed off along with his clothes to Narcissa, and pointed  it at the mass of thick spun gold, murmuring. The mat shimmered and disappeared. Ren stared again, hypnotized. In the pale brown nipples, centered perfectly on his heavy, powerful pecs, were two tiny gold hoops shaped like snakes. The moment stretched out… Charlie crunched an ice-cube loudly.  Ren jumped.

"Erhm. Right." He cleared his throat again. "Okay. Well… Right. Elbow room.  If you two wouldn’t mind sitting on the other sofa there…Right.  You're already there. Excellent. Alright. Sit, Malfoy.  Now. Angle yourself sideways, yeah, like that, facing me." Lucius positioned himself. Ren seated himself, and  shifted a bit as he adjusted and readjusted his own position. The look on his face grew more frustrated and flustered. Finally...

"Fuck," he muttered, sitting back.

"What is it?” Lucius inquired, if only for form's sake... It _was_ rather obvious what the issue was.

"Your legs are too long," the smaller man said bluntly. "I can't get the proper angle like this."

“Ah." Despite his nerves, Lucius’ lips tilted, enhancing the slight, mirthful  gleam suddenly appeared in those blue eyes... "That does present a problem, doesn't it. May I offer you my lap?”

“ _Lucius_ !” It was pure exasperation. " _Really?"_

Ren just pressed his fingers between his eyebrows.

"Yeah," he said. "I... That would work. Sorry."

"It's quite alright. Please. Make yourself comfortable.' The mirthful gleam upgraded to wicked…  Charlie just looked amused. Ren muttered a curse.

"Alright," he said. "Alright. Sorry. Again. Don't take this personally. I'm not being rude, I promise; business-casual is where it's at." He picked up one of his wands and pointed it at himself in turn. The neat slacks transformed to cargo trousers and a soft, absorbent t-shirt. Charlie tutted.

“ _Really_ , mate? Glamours after all? _That's_ what that last-minute run back to the loo was really about, and after Vinny and I went through all that trouble to shop for the real thing?”

“No. I just needed to sick up. No glamours involved; transfiguration's a real thing too.” Ren kicked his shoes off. "Center seat, Malfoy, facing straight out, and stretch your arms out along the back of the sofa. I need as tight and flat a surface to work on as possible.

Lucius obeyed, or rather obliged. The view there was, quite simply, spectacular. Charlie grinned as his husband set his jaw in grim determination and approached his now-openly-amused target. Narcissa sighed, but it was rather unconvincing. _Her_ gleam was as demure and shining as any Horntail's.

"I'm about to a defuse a deathly curse here, people," Ren said to them all, not a little testily. "The least you can do is take it seriously?"

"Been there, done that, mate." Charlie waved him off airily. "And it’s highly overrated, believe you me. All in a day’s work, isn’t that what you just said, and you've got that brand new Grandmastery to work with besides. Upon reflection, I hardly think we have anything to worry on, so I, at least, am taking my entertainment where I find it.” He stretched his legs out. The metaphorical smell of fresh ripe peaches was suddenly replaced by the actual smell, if not presence, of popcorn. 

"Shut it, _princess_.” Ren squared his shoulders, slung a leg over Malfoy's lap and settled astride him on his knees. Face to face now, and despite himself, his lips twitched wryly. Lucius' twitched back in acknowledgement. Charlie held out his hand to Narcissa. She looked down at it, and at him.

"Moment for the ages, love," he said to her. "Final step to freedom. If it were me - and it _was_ me, four days ago... I'd want someone to hang onto, yeah?"

"I don't..."

He just looked at her steadily. She said nothing, but  in the end, took his hand. Charlie's fingers closed firmly and comfortably around hers. Across the coffee table, Lucius smiled a little.

"Thank you, Charles," he said.

"Any time," Charlie said. Ren pushed his hair back and clicked his first biro. He smelled of fir again, Lucius noted, and sweet mild soap, and honeyed tea, and underlying it all (ultimately unembarrassing, since he rather suspected he smelled the same, never mind the mint and popcorn) a definite hint of recent sex. He tilted his head back. He would have been distinctly more self-conscious on his renewed raging erection if the Warder hadn’t been quite so obviously in the same boat.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"Half an hour or so. Let me know if you need a break."

He nodded. Ren twisted the setting on the biro, and raising his hand, braced his second lightly on the broad, powerful shoulder.  He placed the nib, then…

“You’ve got something glamoured here,” he said suddenly. “Mind if I have a closer look?”

"Ah. Of course.” The small gold cross on its chain glimmered.  “Do I need to take it off?”

“No,” the Warder said. “No, it can stay, as long as you don’t glamour it up again till I’m done." He placed the nib again.

"Lawrence," Lucius said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

There was a pause. Ren lifted his eyes to meet his for a long moment.

"What are friends for," he said, and bent his head and inscribed the first tiny, neat line.


	11. Notes (and a poll!)

FYI: I haven't deleted two chapters of the story. I just took out the announcements chapters. :)

 

Okay, here we go!

A timeline of upcoming events for those who like to know where we're headed:

Titles may change, so don't hold me to them. :)

 

** SOLACE  (four (okay five) more chapters!) **

Resolution of Tea

Battle of the Cabals (2 chapters)

Aftermath of the Battle of the Cabals

Christmas Eve

 

 **HUFFLEPUFF TAKES NEW YORK** (Takes place on Christmas Eve) -- short

(includes Lots of Badgers, Plus Ones and Escorts)

 

BRING KLEENEX

based around Ren's induction in New York, from the point of view of all the wonderful people you miss so much!

 

** NEW YEARS EVE--- short **

Remus/Sirius' wedding/ Ren/Charlie's vow renewal.

Astonishing and Unexpected Decisions Made By Certain People

Solace - the Resolution.

 

** MEANWHILE, BACK ON THE RANCH... (Little Nev and Little Harry revisited) **

** The (Revisited) Tales of Beedle the Bard: Apocalyptic Version (separate document) **

** THE GLOBAL INVITATIONALS!!!! (standalone)  
**

 

 

 **'THE LONGEST RIVER'** is the fourth book-length book. It starts immediately after the invitationals. **CHARLIE-CENTRIC**

 

** BONUS FEATURES **

Somewhere in there, there will be a short novella that takes place back in the  war-torn 40s, at Hogwarts, from the point of view of sixth-year Inez Hernandez as she meets a young Tom Riddle the year after the Basilisk is first released and Moaning Myrtle dies. Will feature young (pre-clerical) Antonio Silva and young(er) Dumbledore. Fawkes is not his familiar at this point. 

 

 

So.... That's what's coming up.

 

**Here's a poll for you:**

 

What kind of one-shot, featuring which of your favourite character(s) that is NOT listed here would YOU most like to see???

Who is your favourite more-of-please? (I'm curious)!

How,exactly, did you find this series, and have you ever recommended it to anyone else?

 

xoxoxo BlueMaple

 

 

 


	12. Interlude/Wednesday Afternoon (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab list:
> 
> Pobrecito: poor little thing

**Castelobruxo School**

**Brazil**

**September 20, 1970**

_"You_ are _aware, Malfoy-from-England," Ramone Carriera says as he leans precariously around the hippogryph's broad, sweeping wing and peers down, down, down into the writhing, splashing mass  below, "are you not, that this is a metaphorical jungle? And that we are, in fact, dreaming?"_

_"Fact has very little, if anything, to do with truth, Carriera-from-Brazil. And... I would never have guessed." Lucius hauls him back firmly by the belt of his dressing gown, twisting slightly so that he might untie it and knot it about his own waist as well as Ramone's. Soap bubbles rise up all around them as he does so, followed by a poorly aimed rubber duck. Lethifolds, he reflects, are oddly playful at bathtime. When the two are anchored together... "There. That is much better. Now you will not fall."_

_"I am tied to you," Ramone points out. "Not to the hippogryph. It means only that if I fall, you fall with me."_

_"So cast a sticking charm and have done with, Carriera-from-Brazil."  As the last word leaves his mouth, it collides with the rubber duck, merging and Changing and becoming something small and round and golden with fluttering, buzzing wings... This time, it is Lucius' turn to lean, reaching and reaching. Ramone hauls him back, slapping his head ungently._

_"You are a Keeper," he scolds. "Not a Seeker, and we are hunting lethifolds, not playing Quidditch! Leave the Snitch to those better suited to catching it, heh, and keep your eye on your hoops? Also, keep your feet up. What have I told you; one half-inch of too-long-leg may prove the difference between life and dea..." He wrinkles his nose suddenly as he looks around, and down between his legs. "Luz?"_

_"Yes, Carriera?"_

_"Why are we riding a goldfish? Was it not a hippogryph just a moment ago?"_

_"It was," Lucius says. "It is obviously an Animagus." He too looks down. "The question is, is it a goldfish who becomes a hippogryph, or a hippogryph who becomes a goldfish?"_

_"One cannot have a hippogryph as an Animagus form, my Luz. It a magical beast, and as magical beasts have their own magical cores, and as a human's core is fundamentally incapable of producing a second one of those of any kind, much less one of a completely different species, it is an impossibility."_

_Lucius considers that as he brushes a bit of random eviscerated lethifold off of his shoulders._

_"If that is the case, Carriera-from-Brazil,' he says, "We have a problem."_

_"How is that?"_

_"If one cannot Change into a magical beast, only a non-magical one, then the hippogryph we are riding must be the original creature, and the goldfish its Changed form. That means that we are, in fact, riding a non-magical goldfish. Non-magical goldfish are not typically assigned the capacity to bear two near-grown men, much less the power of flight."_

_"That is not a problem, that is a demonstrated conundrum. And facts," Ramone says reprovingly. "Have nothing to do with truth, my Luz. You said it yourself just now, and you have been here at Castelobruxo for three weeks besides. Have you learned nothing from your associated lessons with my uncle?"_

_"Your uncle believes in God," Lucius points out. "And more to the point, his God seems to believe in_ him. _The combination may make all things possible there, including that decidedly magical Animagus form of his, but I am English, and God is not part of the European wizarding tradition."_

_"That is very sad," Ramone commiserates. "Perhaps you should consider converting? Soon?"_

_"And why would I want to do that?"_

_"Because without faith one is more likely to fall, and if, as is the case now, I am tied to you, I will fall too."_

_"Oh." Lucius blinks. "I must say, I had not thought of that."_

_"It is a problem, as you said. And not a small one either," Ramone agrees. He peers over Lucius' shoulder. "It is a very long way down, heh?"_

_"You just said that it is a metaphorical jungle. Even if we do fall, we will not be hurt."_

_"_ You _will not be hurt. You are an angel. Angels cannot die. They can only fall, and when they land, their shadows become lethifolds." The young Brazilian nods down again, where the shadows in question are now waging war on each other with a veritable army of rubber ducks. "I, however, am not an angel. I am a frog. A poison dart frog, very bad for the digestion, and cold blooded, and perpetually glowing, none of which bodes well for a continued friendship between us at all if you continue to choose bad faith over good."_

_"Mm. Well... What if you were to become my angel? If you were my angel, you would not be hurt! We could fall  and be lethifolds together!"_

_"You already have an angel, my Luz. You do not need me."_

_"But I do!" he protests. "I do need you! I need both of you!"_

_"No," Ramone says judiciously. "I do not think you do. And even if you did, it could not work out. You must go back to England, after all, and I must stay here, and we are both bound to die in our respective wars anyway, so what is the point of thinking on it?  There can be no future for us, so perhaps it would be best for all concerned if we part now."_

_He unties the belt, and stands. Lucius shouts in alarm as he grabs for him._

_"Ramone, no! What are you doing? Sit down!" He grabs at him again as he sidesteps him neatly. The goldfish swims sedately, swerving to swallow the re-appeared Snitch just as it Changes into an iridescent blue sock bedecked with miniature racing brooms."You will fall!"_

_"I am not going to fall, Malfoy-from-England." Ramone rolls his eyes at him. "I have been riding on my feet since I was eleven, and now I am almost eighteen. If I were going to fall, I would have done so by now."_

_"Ramone, please, please,_ please, _sit down, sit_ down _! I am begging you, please!"_

_"And you are very good at it, but I am not going to fall," Ramone says patiently. "I am going to fly. This is a non-magical goldfish, and cannot possibly bear the weight of both of us. I will fly alongside you, you see? That way, we will both make it out of the jungle safely."_

_"But you are a frog! Frogs cannot fly! They do not have wings!"_

_"_ Nao _?" He pauses, one foot off the back of the fish, his nose wrinkling again. "You are certain? Perhaps you are thinking of English frogs. Everything is different here in Brazil. Nothing is the same. Nothing is familiar. You are in a place where no one knows you, my Luz. Where no one matters to you, and where you do not matter to anyone. That means your opinion does not - cannot - matter either." His gaze softens as he looks down at Lucius' hurt, bewildered face. "It is just as well you hear this now, heh? You must try to accustom yourself to the fact; it is only what is waiting for you at home after all."_

_"I am home! I am already home! And fact is not truth! I do matter! I do!"_

_"But I do not." It is gentle, and sad, and profoundly final. "I do not, my Luz, and that is the truth. The lethifolds, they already have me. They have stolen my name and my memory, and I have been erased, and_ no one remembers me _. They have all forgotten that I even existed. As soon as I am out of your sight, you will forget me too. They will make sure of it. You cannot go back with any memory of me, my Luz; they will not allow it, you see? You will go back Changed. You will not be_ you _anymore. You will go back Changed, and they will choose your form for you."_

_"What?" Lucius stares at him, bemused. "What are you talking about? Who is 'they'?"_

_"Think on it," Ramone advises. "While you can. Though it will not matter, in the end, because they will take that too."_

_"I do not know what you are talking on, but whatever it is... You are wrong. You are wrong! Sit down, Ramone, please? I am begging you; you are wrong!"_

_"Not on this," Ramone says with great finality, and steps off the fish. Lucius cries out in horror._

_"NO! NONONONONONONONO! RAMONE, NO!" And then he is falling too, falling and falling and falling, and..._

"Ow." Lucius Malfoy picked himself up painfully off of the floor of the quarantine room and rubbed his hip, glaring at the boy before him. Ramone Carriera, now spread-eagled over the full confines of the narrow bed, snored happily at him in his sleep and stuffed his head under the pillow. "You are not a frog, Carriera; you are a hog. A bed-hog."

A half-mirthful, weary snort sounded. Lucius spun, startled, on his heel. Antonio Silva was standing in the door, a small book in his hand.

"It would not be an issue," the priest said to him, not-quite-not-reprovingly, "if you were to nap in your own bed. There _are_ two of them here, just as there are two of you."

" _Tio_ ?" Ramone hauled his head out from under the pillow, blinking at him, and sitting up. " _Tio_! _Tempus_!"

A soft glowing series of numbers appeared before him: the current time. The young Brazilian's face fell.

"They are gathering now," his uncle confirmed, and came to sit opposite him. Lucius sank down beside him.  Silva rubbed his temple with one hand, still holding the book in the second.

"Luis," he said. "May I have a moment with my Ramonzinho?"

"Of course, sir." Lucius rose again immediately, and stepped out. The door closed behind him. He fidgeted anxiously, but only for a moment before a small, hurried figure appeared.

" _Senhor_ Malfoy!"

He turned.

"You will come with me," Inez Hernandez ordered as she approached him. "Now."

"Erhm. I am sorry, Professor, but Padre Silva said he just needed a moment with Ramone, and..."

" _Now_ , _Senhor_ Malfoy!"

Lucius said no more. Hernandez beckoned him to the empty hall outside the main doors of the hospital ward glancing left and right swiftly  before leading him left, then left again along a suddenly-appeared passage.  It seemed to conclude in a blank wall, but she tapped it with her wand and it slid back. She hauled him bodily through just it closed behind them. There was another hall before them, and several more spiraling, twisting passages, all sloping down... The final passage culminated, not in another blank wall, but in a door. Castelobruxo's new Headmistress ushered him through it and into the small, square chamber behind. There was nothing there but a single chair. She closed the door magically, and turned to face him.

"You will stay here," she ordered. "Till I return for you. This is a matter of vital security, _Senhor_ Malfoy. Your vital security."

"Professor Hernandez, what..."

She just pointed to the far wall. A panel slid back, revealing the dining hall from the perspective of one standing behind the podium. Lucius' eyes widened at the sight of the rows of stone-faced men and women lining the walls and guarding the doors, all clad in dark blue, and each holding a bared wand. The gathered students huddled against each other in their chairs, eyes fixed studiously on their own laps, their own hands, their own feet - everywhere save for directly at the men and women themselves. The looks of terror that they bore on their faces were nothing short of pitiful.

"It is a one-way window. No one can see you. They are government officials," Inez Hernandez said tersely. "Sent by the Brazilian Magical President. Aurors, Legilimancers and Obliviators. They arrived without notice twenty minutes ago, and have informed us that they are not leaving, one way or another, without answers. If proceedings fall out as Antonio suspects they will, there will be no ISEP students left at Castelobruxo by nightfall, and considerably fewer memories of the specifics of recent events in those remaining."

" _What_?"

Hernandez hesitated, then firmed her lips.

"I have only a few more minutes, so listen carefully. There two issues here: the first and official one the obvious. They are not to allow the school to be closed and the students sent home, a) because of the lethifolds, and b) because there would be far too many questions on what kind of event could provoke such a completely unprecedented action and the associated dismissal of the Headmistress. Secondly and most definitely unofficially, is the issue of Antonio's public declaration of relation and magical guardianship of _Senhor_ Carriera, and his declaration that he is acting, in these matters and on order of his superiors, as a private citizen rather than as a priest. He, as an individual, is seen as a vital resource in South and Central America, and the Brazilian government has therefore sent representatives to remind him of the fact by whatever means they deem necessary before those on the highest levels notice that he exists as something other than a black cassock and collar."

"Erhm. What?"

"The Wizarding world, as it exists beyond the borders of the Lower Americas, does not tend to pay attention to Catholic priests, Senhor Malfoy," Inez Hernandez said tersely. "Or indeed, to any of those Magicals who believe in any kind of higher creative moral power. It does not like to be reminded that it is answerable to something other than its own sense of natural superiority. Antonio does have a genuine vocation, but there is no doubt that our government finds the fact convenient. He is  extremely well-known and well-loved amongst our people, but in a circumspect manner that serves to keep his reputation and knowledge of his abilities within our borders."

"Oh," Lucius said blankly. "Only... Abraxas had heard of him?" It was more of a question than a statement.

"He had heard of his skill in dueling," she corrected. "And not before you applied. He contacted the school after you requested his permission to apply, asking if there was anyone here, or available to us on consult, who would suit your particular requirements. It was, from his point of view, a happy and convenient coincidence as it provided you with your own way to rationalize his unlikely consent."

"Ah."

"Mm. Back to circumspection again. If Antonio were to leave the Church, and forgo the certain informal, and yes, formal immunity from the public eye that it affords him, it would not be long before someone from Away noticed him and his true abilities. Before _Riddle_ noticed his abilities, and that... _That_ would be completely catastrophic on every level. Even the rumour of the existence of another Magical with the power to challenge him would bring him here faster than you could say "What have we here? An entire continent with the established means and ability to erase not just the memories of, but the memory of Nomaji entirely? How very nice. Oh, this nasty little infestation? It is not so bad, truly. Oh you think it is? I do not tolerate people who disagree with me. I would, in fact, prefer it if those who dared just... disappeared. Mm? The Statute of Secrecy? No, not a problem either. We never liked that one anyway, and how simple it would be to keep the creatures in line once we present them with the details of the cost of misbehaving?" And that is not even counting that other little, extremely unpublicized issue, _nao_ ? "What? You do not like these plans of mine, Padre?  Well, that is just too bad. My goodness, you are looking a little hot around the coll... Oh my. Oh _my!_ What is this? Your Animagus form is a phoenix? An immortal bird, who cannot be killed? Mm. That _is_ interesting. Tell me, what would it take, Padre, to convince you to allow me to take you apart in order to see what makes you tick?"

Lucius sat down on the chair with a thump.

"Indeed. It is, as Antonio would say, a problem."

"But... If your government is afraid of all of this... Well, not the bit on his Animagus form, but the other... Why was I permitted to come at all? They _know_ my family's leanings! They would have to know too that Riddle has his eye on me; he has not made the point of it yet, but if _I_ understand that he will, and why, there are most certainly others who do! Why would they risk allowing me to come here, when they can only be convinced that I will use everything that I learn here against them?"

"Think on that a moment," Hernandez advised. "Why _do_ you think, _Senhor_ Malfoy, that you would be allowed to come to a place where your mind could be - no would be - altered?  Or that there is, for that matter, a more than considerable chance that if you stay, you will not return at all? And why do you think that there are no other students from Hogwarts this year? Your application was not the only one sent in from your school. Your fellows were simply all allotted placements in their second and third choices."

He stared at her, horrified.

"Your application suited the needs of those on both sides of the upcoming war in Europe, and those here in Brazil," she informed him not unkindly.  "They all simply have different sets of information to work with. The only common denominator there is you. You are a complicating factor for all of them at this point in time, and your presence here solves a short-term problem for one, and a potential long-term problem for the others."

The boy before her pushed what little hair he had back with both hands.

"You are saying that the Brazilian government accepted my application here in the hopes that I will be lost," he repeated. "Or that ... That at the very least... Maybe as their best-case scenario.. I will be sent back... Altered? To their specifications?"

"No," Inez Hernandez said bluntly. "I am saying that certain members, or rather, associates of, certain members of the _British_ government, _Senhor_ Malfoy, forwarded your application to the Brazilian government with the strong recommendation that it be unconditionally accepted in the interests of our mutual vital security. Antonio, as you may well imagine, did not approve, and took a personal interest in your case. He took an even more personal interest in your case once Ramone's wand informed us your first hour here that you were not what they all assumed."

Lucius ran his hands through his shorn hair again as he stared at her. Castelobruxo's new Headmistress conjured a second chair and sat opposite him.

"This particular event," she said to him. "The attempt on Ramone's life... Changes everything. The specifics have been contained so far, but if the event becomes public knowledge, the results will not be pleasant for anyone. Our government's solution is as it always been, erase, or at least alter, the specifics entirely. Once that is done... Arrangements will be made for the ISEP students to return home, as a matter of preventative security. The British government finds this acceptable, as any changes in personality you demonstrate upon your return may be attributed to your mama's death. Riddle would find it less acceptable - his long-term plans for you depend on your remaining out of England until the end of the school year - but he would work with what he is given as necessary, should it prove necessary. Antonio, on the concealed and unexpected _final_ hand... Does not find your departure at this point in time remotely acceptable. He will not have you placed beyond his reach, not just because of political reasons, but for your own soul's sake. So... He has placed a series of very particular wards on this room. As long as you remain in here, they -" She nodded to the officials. "Will not think to ask on you today. No one in the school will think of you. You will not be erased, you will simply be overlooked. After the officials have all left and are off the grounds, we will take other measures to account for your continued presence at Castelobruxo, on all levels, but on your part, it is imperative... _Imperative, Senhor_ Malfoy - that no matter what is said and done, that you speak not one word of anything that has happened in the last week as pertains to Ramone's fall, including the fall itself, to any save Antonio, Ramone or myself, and not excepting _Senhorita_ Black. Anything that you tell her... Everything you tell her... Puts her at risk of mandated alteration as well."

"But..."

"Do not ask me questions. I do not have time right now; I must go, but I am saying this to you from Antonio's mouth: _you will obey_ . Everything... _Everything_ ... depends on it. England depends on it, as England depends on _you_."

Lucius pressed his fingers to his eyes, then nodded.

"I will obey," he said decisively. "You, and him."

Hernandez nodded, rose, kissed his cheek swiftly and stepped out. The wall sealed neatly behind her. No more than three minutes later, the young Englishman watched through the one-way window as the doors opened, and a black-clad, openly armed (his wand holsters were not their typical discreet black, but blazing scarlet) Antonio Silva, accompanied at a more leisurely pace by the new Headmistress, strode to the front of the room, his dark narrow features radiant with frigid and unconcealed displeasure. That last was more than obviously aimed, not at the students, but at the unwelcome officials.

"Where is your nephew?" the Auror closest to the doors demanded. "His presence and corroborative testimony are required in these proceedings."

"He is still in the hospital ward," Silva said tersely as Hernandez settled into her chair and he took the podium. "Recovering under guardian wards from the attempt on his life. You will not disturb him. Any questions you have for him may and _will_ wait, and none will be presented him without my presence as his Magical guardian."

"He is seventeen, Padre Silva. Your presence is not required in any interview we request of him."

"If these were normal circumstances you would be correct, but as I am also his medical and legal and magical power of attorney, and as he is suffering from the effects of a serious head injury that could yet be impairing his judgment and the validity of his corroborative testimony, I am obliged to be present as witness to all related proceedings. You need not be afraid, children," he addressed the student body. "Jesus may have stepped away from my office temporarily, but He is yet at Castelobruxo, and I think it fairly safe to say that He is not remotely pleased at this turn of events."

"YOU WILL NOT FLOUT OUR AUTHORITY!"

"YOU WILL BE _SILENT_!"

And they were, suddenly and completely.

"The twenty-four hour grace period granted the students by the Board of Governors is not yet over," Silva informed them. "You have no authority here until it is."

"The grace period has been overridden on our highest levels."

"Has it? I have not yet heard from the great God on the matter myself; perhaps we should ask Him? Now, you will put your wands in your holsters, all of you, or I _will_ break them."

The man opened his mouth... It shut abruptly. From the furious expression and his madly working and sealed lips, it was not his idea. Lucius watched as the row of officials edged away from their silenced fellow ever-so-slightly, glancing fearfully at the priest as they slid their wands away. Not one of them had failed to observe that the priest's own two wands were yet firmly established in his holsters, and that he had not made gesture or sound indicative of any casting of a single spell toward the end of muting their fellow. The students sat still as statues, all caught between the obvious conflicted urges to cheer and scream in horror.

"You are not the only individuals present capable of legilimency and obliviation," Silva said to the officials grimly. "Nor even the most effective. That is not a threat, it is the truth. I am sworn not to use my abilities save _in extremis_ , and I will not, but what you are here to do is an abomination, and qualifies on every level. I do not care that it is the law. I do not care that you operate under the law. It. Is. _Wrong._ There are two and a half thousand students at the school and  only one of them... Only _one_ of them... is guilty of this crime against their fellow.  I wish, I assure you, more than any of you, that he or she be brought to justice. My Ramonzinho deserves that. All of the students here deserve that, and in light of that, and as all have been warned of the potential consequences, I have no objections to  standard, prudent and careful investigation into the minds of any established and confirmed suspects. What I do object to, and will _not_ permit, is the _completely gratuitous rape_ of this student body in entirety _. I. Will. Not. Permit. It._ And if you insist on attempting it, I will stop you. You will go back to your masters with answers, but they will be the answers _I_ choose to send with you."

"You walk dangerous ground, Padre Silva!  As we are here on a matter affecting vital global security, all cognitive situational assessments are considered necessary legal actions, and are  fully supported by..."

A second mouth was silenced, and sealed. Antonio Silva leaned forwards, flat hands braced on the podium, dark eyes cold as frostbitten steel.

"I do not care, _Senhor_ ,” he said softly.  “Who sanctions or supports these acts, it does not alter the defining nature of the acts themselves. _It. Is. Rape_ .  And murder too, if you embark, as you so obviously intend, upon wholesale modification and erasure of their memories and personalities in order to establish whatever version of reality suits your governmentally established agendas. You may have training and licenses that provide you with the absolute _legal_ right to invade, pillage and permanently alter the minds and, as necessary, personalities  of anyone and everyone here, but that does not bestow you with the moral right, and..." He straightened, and held up a forestalling hand. "Before you ask me what the difference is between what you are threatening to do to them and that with which I am threatening you..." He enunciated the next words clearly and precisely. "You are _adults._ These are _children_. _Their physical brains are not fully developed_. Their magical _cores_ are not developed, and are all in constant flux besides as they study the Change. If you attempt to implement the kind of measures that I _know_ you have in mind, you risk them in ways that you yourselves, again as grown adults, need not fear. You _will_ damage them, and some of them permanently. Perhaps even the majority of them, and even a few of them fatally, if not in the immediate moment, then in the long run. The very least, the _very_ least, that you can concede them, then, before you wreak such perversion on them, is three hours'  more grace and the hope that the situation may resolve itself before your version of the final and unavoidable moment!"

There was a definite uneasy, if profoundly resentful and sullen silence. Then...

"Where are the ISEP students?" another of the officials demanded. "None of them are here."

"They have been excused from the proceedings," Professor Hernandez said coolly from her chair.  "And are currently up in my office enjoying tea and a recorded Nomaji cinematic production under the supervision of one of our resident Healers. Padre Silva and I are satisfied that they are all innocent in these matters, and as they are innocent, they do not need to bear personal witness to the confirming fact that they have come on invitation and in good faith to a country where their minds, as soon as their visas of temporary residency were stamped, became the formal and permanent physical property, as is the case for all of us here, of the global Wizarding government. They  might be a little annoyed, do you not think, at the realization at this new and irrevocable status of theirs, inflicted as it was upon them without due notification or warning?  Without the opportunity for consideration or _choice_ in the matter on their part, or on the part of their guardians, their schools, or even most of the leaders of their home nations?"

Behind the wall, Lucius Malfoy literally fell off his chair.

"No matter the manner of concluding these events, Headmistress," the man said between clenched teeth. "They cannot be allowed to stay."

"I am aware. And that being the case, I saw - see - no need to risk their mental integrity past the strictly _necessary_ point by providing them with more information that must only be removed. We all know, do we not, that some things are easier to forget than others, and the more profound and unsettling the content, the more likely it is that the solutions will not take?"

They all nodded reluctantly.

"We are slaves," Antonio Silva said to the officials then, distinctly and precisely again. "Every one of us here, yourselves included. However vital and valid the concerns that lie behind the ICW's rationalization of their enslavement of us... You know it is the truth. And all morality aside -which I am assuring you, it most certainly, certainly is not - if you insist on carrying out this course of advisable, vital _action..._ You are risking an entire half-generation of inefficient and incapable slaves: ones who will be so compromised that they cannot do the work that they have, and will continue to be, charged with executing. Not will not, _cannot_. Are you truly prepared to go back to your masters again and report that you did not think three hours of time a fair compromise when bartering  for that half generation's potential effective abilities, and through them, the continued effectiveness of the Statute of Secrecy?"

Lucius's mind was very nearly breaking, but an odd, brooding look seemed to pass among the officials at Silva's words... One of the women stepped forward.

"We do understand what you are saying, Padre, and we recognize that it is a valid concern. Insofar as that concern is a valid one, we have been ordered...|

She hesitated.

" _Sim_? You have been ordered... What?"

The woman set her shoulders and sent a document spinning over. Silva scanned it and tore it two before he had even reached the bottom of the page, dropping it on the ground and setting it aflame without so much as looking at it.

" _Nao_ ," he said flatly. "Absolutely not."

"You yourself, Padre Silva, have said that you have been instructed by your superiors to act as a private citizen in these matters. That means that the Brazilian government has the right to call on your services and abilities _as_ a private citizen."

"I would rather burn in hell for all eternity, _Senhora_. I _would_ burn in hell for all eternity, if I were to even consider agreeing. You may phrase it as prettily as you like, _sim_ , and compliment me as prettily as you like, but you will not convince me to assist you in these matters on the grounds that I am capable of performing your crimes more efficiently and safely than you. If you wish to risk your souls: if your employers wish to risk theirs, then you, and they, will be taking the risk themselves, _and_ the responsibility. Aside from that, and again, I have made _vows_ ! Do you not _understand_ that?"

"Your superiors have ordered you to set your vows aside and comply with civil procedures in these matters!"

Antonio Silva closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his temple, and breathed very deeply indeed. Several times.

"My superiors have ordered me to set my vows aside," he corrected. "In the instance that a previously warned individual were to come to me _in situ Christi_ on this matter and attempt to manipulate me, through my vows as a priest, in an attempt to attain divine forgiveness while avoiding the risk of secular culpability. It is not, I assure you, remotely the same thing as what you are suggesting, _Senhora_ , and if you are all truly that confused, you are in desperate, collective need of a refresher course in the fundamentals of our mutual religion."

Lucius' nose wrinkled as he tried to sort through that, making a mental note to take Carriera up on his offer at some point for an explanation of the confusing particulars. He was immediately distracted by  the priest's next words.

"It is moot in any instance. As the conditions have been fulfilled," he continued. "And the confession attained, my status and responsibilities and vows as a priest are now fully reinstated. Your orders are your orders again, and mine are from God."

Dead silence fell.

* * *

 

"You have received a confession?" the woman said sharply. "Why have you not said so till now?"

"Because we were establishing formal and necessary mutual context," Silva said. "And the motives serving the crime are not as simple as you wish them to be. _Nao_ , they are not simple at all, and as you have so kindly and unexpectedly presented yourselves and provided me with the opportunity to establish to you that _you_ are the ones responsible for the unpleasant situation we find ourselves in now, I felt morally obliged to do so."

" _We_ are responsible," one of the men repeated. "And how is this?'

The podium transformed to a chair. A similar chair appeared behind each of the standing officials.

"Please," Silva invited them. "Sit."

Bemused, and surprisingly, they sat. The students exchanged furtive small glances as the priest extracted from his pocket a small, battered paperback.

"I received no actual visitors to my office this afternoon," the priest informed them. "What I did receive, or rather, was placed on the floor immediately outside my office, was this book. A book that I recognized immediately, for I myself ordered it for one of the students here at the school as a Christmas gift from another, six and a half years ago now."

Lucius frowned.

"Padre _._.."

Silva tched reprovingly. The reproved silenced herself.

" _Muito bueno._ Now. I have been teaching here for four years. This is my fifth. The book was ordered through me by a first year student for another first year student, two years, as I said, before that. That means that the first year student who received the book as a gift is now a seventh year student. The student who ordered him the book through me has been lost."

The silence fell again. Silva opened the paperback and flipped through the pages.

"It is a very good book," he noted. "The author is a Nomaj, a Scottish writer by the name of James Barrie. Many of you will know him, _sim_? And this, his most famous tale and character: Peter Pan?" He settled back, crossing his legs, one over the other. "We study the story here at Castelobruxo, in third year Nomaj Appreciation. Many of the students find their own meaning in the recurring themes - the child who never grew up, perpetually seeking both freedom from adult responsibilities and a nurturing mother for his chosen brothers, those Lost Boys whom he has enticed and stolen away from their families with the promise of never having to take on the suffocating and difficult and enslaving responsibilities of the men God intended them to be."

He turned the book over in his hands again.

"There are many copies of this book," he said idly. "Many lost. Some stolen. Some overlooked, like the boys in the book itself, _sim_?"

Lucius watched as several of the Aurors sat up straight at that, eyes narrowing. Silva made a small gesture. It took the students several moments to realize that all of the officials were now firmly frozen.

'It is very rude to interrupt," he told them. "Jesus does not approve. We will help you along then, and avoid your necessary and regretful private discussions of the matter." He opened the book to the flyleaf.

"We are all one in this war," he informed his literally captive audience. "But sometimes... We forget. Sometimes we are made to forget, by circumstance, government decree, and on occasion, simple inability to process the pain and agony of the sins that we here, as slaves, are forced to commit for the sake of others. God understands that we are forced. Perhaps He does not, in His great mercy, condemn us in and of ourselves for that which we are told we must do. That which we are ordered to do, for the Greater Good. For that which we are ordered to train our children to become from birth: thieves, rapists, murderers, and in the name of the Holy, yet? We are told this is our charge from God - to unname, and yet to remember names. It is so difficult. So many contradictions that tear not just the mind,  but the soul, as we constantly struggle to reconcile what we know to be evil with that which the world tells us, and what we tell ourselves, is His most blessed will. "

He sat back in his chair.

"Who can predict the future?" he said rhetorically. "Who has the right to arrange it? It is a sin. To seek to become God... To act as God... We are ordered to act as God every moment of every day, in His name, by virtue of His will. This is the greatest contradiction of all, sim? It does not... Sit well. It cannot. It freezes us. We are forced to listen: to listen, to listen, to obey... Always to obey, all for our own good, even as it kills our souls. How can it be good if it kills us, we ask ourselves? How can it be good _for_ us? How can it serve the greater good,  when the greatest good we know is God? God, who loves each of us, who loves all of us, who created each of our souls in an act of pure and perfect love, with the ultimate desire to see us all whole and part of Him?"

The students' furtive looks made the rounds again.

"Sometimes in our agony, we act instinctively," Silva mused. "In automatic rebellion against that which we know can never be good, can never be beautiful, and cannot be true. Past the point of agony... All we are are our instincts. We are reduced to them. When one of us is lost... We are reduced. All that we are left with is this: the instinctive knowledge of the acceptable, and the instinctive knowledge of the existence of its correlative opposite. Even when our memories are taken from us, our own memories... This knowledge remains. Nothing, nothing, on this earth can erase _that_."

He opened the book again to the flyleaf.

"December 25, 1964," he read. "For my good friend T., on the sad anniversary of the day his mama and mine were both lost. May we find our comfort in the arms of our Christ's Mother, on this, the day where hope is reborn to us through Her.  I will remember you always, as you have promised to remember me. Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Rocha dos Santos, Age 11."

Confused whispers broke out. Silva lowered the book.

"Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Rocha dos Santos," he said deliberately. "Was lost the same year he wrote this message. The second boy.. The one he addresses here as T - he kept the book. It is a small book, easily lost, easily stolen, easily overlooked. What its owner did _not_ keep was his promise to remember his friend. But then…” He looked around.  “None of you remember him, do you? All of you who began school as first years, all of you, in September of 1964... I see your faces, _sim_? You are all puzzled. You are all confused. How may this be, you ask? A boy lost, a boy of our year, that none of us, not one of us remembers? I ask you to think about this, as you look at each other. As you all look around, and see the faces of everyone here. The answer to your question is here in this room, sitting here with all of us. You will not have to think very hard at all, or look very hard, to locate it."

Lucius' hands came up to cover his mouth. The silence stretched and stretched and stretched and stretched...

And broke. A single, heart-wrenching sob sounded, immediately stifled. Everyone turned simultaneously in their seats. Antonio Silva rose to his feet and made his way down the center aisle to the section where the seventh years sat, to the fourth row, to the aisle seat. He knelt before a small, shaking young man now covering his face desperately with his hands, and pulled them away gently by the wrists. His face was a soft, blurred morass of tears.

"Shh, _pobrecito_ ," he murmured. "Shh, _Senhor_ Garcia. Shh, Tomasinho. Padre is here. I will help you, _sim_? You have only to tell me what has happened to you, to bring you to this sad point."

"I did not know he was your nephew," the boy choked. "I did not _know_ , Padre! I forgot him, but I did not. I promised ... I... His laugh... It was his _laugh_. I could never stop hearing it. Not in my head, not... Not in front of me. The same laugh, but... I do not _remember_ him!"

"It is a beautiful laugh," Silva's eyes were soft and dark. "I hear my brother Manuel's voice in it, _Senhor_ Garcia, whenever I hear it, though he has been lost now these fourteen years. It is a great comfort."

"But..." The boy, Tomas Garcia, struggled. "Why... How can I not remember him?  I see his name, I hear his laugh, as a ghost's but he... I cannot _remember_ him!" His face crumpled. "I promised to remember him; that is obvious. The book says I promised him. But I cannot! I have tried so hard, Padre. Always a ghost, always ... The book, I had the book. My ... I know I promised to remember him, but his name is Miguel, not Ramone. He is Ramone, not Miguel. He is your nephew, but _he is Miguel_ , and he cannot be lost, for he is here, but .... Why can I not _remember_ ? I am going crazy, I _am_ crazy, I am going crazy, I just wanted him to _stop_ , I just wanted him to stop _laughing_ , to stop, to..."

Silva sat cross-legged on the floor and literally pulled the weeping young man into his lap. Lucius sat frozen as the priest brushed his fingers lightly over the boy's eyes. His sobs slowed, easing into soft, deep breathing.

"Children," he said, not looking at the frozen line of government officials. "Unfinished. Vulnerable. Fragile. You cannot be trusted to recover a single book, and you wish me to permit you to play God with their minds?"

"Padre," one of the sixth year girls said. "What… What is Tomas saying? What is going _on_?”

"My Ramonzinho had an older brother," Silva said. Lucius blinked at that. "Named Miguel. They were born less than a year apart. Miguel was lost in his first year, two years before Ramonzinho enrolled here in his second equivalent year, in September of 1966. He was lost because a lethifold made its way onto the grounds of Castelobruxo. The Board of Governors decided that it was best if no one was frightened, and arranged for you all to forget the incident, lest your families lose confidence in the school - the school which saves all of our lives - and with the incident, the boy whom many of you had called your friend. I was not consulted. Nor were his adoptive parents, nor Ramonzinho himself. By the time I arrived at the school, the deed was done."

Even God Himself, Lucius thought, would have had trouble detecting the lie in the words.

"They were very alike," the priest continued evenly. "Miguel and Ramonzinho,  as brothers often are. Their voices, their laughs... They are exactly the same. And the officials here, when they came to recover all proof that Miguel had existed, missed the book that he had given to _Senhor_ Garcia. The book with his name in it, and the words he had written to Tomas here; so very personal and meaningful to both of them, _sim?_ Some things, they are just so difficult to..." He gestured. Lucius sat back in his chair.

"He has read this book, the message, thousands of times," Silva said to the stunned students. "Trying to remember this boy, this erased boy, this lost boy who loved him, and whom he so obviously loved back. When Ramonzinho came, you will remember how difficult it was? How difficult he was? He could not tell you he had a brother who had been here. He was not permitted. He had even to change the names that had been given to him and his brother as gifts from their adopted family. I came here to be with him, but not as his uncle, on the chance that if one of you did remember, even a fragment, that you would associate his face with Miguel's, and Miguel with me, and come to me for answers that I would not, perhaps, have been able to hide. But Tomas could not forget. He had the name, and with Ramonzinho's laugh... It is as he has said. He could not bear it. He could not bear it, and he just wished it to stop. Not to murder him. I do not believe he had the intent to murder him, as such. He just wished the pain in his own mind to stop."

There followed  a quite dreadful pause. Then….

"They _erased_ him?" one of the girls repeated unbelievingly. Her absolute shock and appalled horror was echoed in every single face around her. "These men and women here... _They erased your nephew_ ? Carriera's _brother_? A _Magical_? As if he were one of the Nomaji? But that... That is not _permitted_ ! It is not... It is _forbidden_!"

" _Nao_ , it is not permitted. And yes, it is forbidden, and yet, they did it.  On order again. On order, as the slaves we all are. The Board of Governors, and through them, the government, said that they did not want you to be frightened, even though it was not a true breach of the wards. The lethifold, it had crept into Miguel's suitcase, under the clothing, over the Easter break. It was carried in past the wards, and when he began to unpack, having come back a little early before his roommates, he was interrupted, and turned his back, and left the room to go to the washroom, perhaps, who knows... And it crept under his bed. He came back, very tired yet from the vacation, and lay to take a little nap, _sim_?"

"How can you know how it happened?" one of the fourth years asked, confused.

"Professora Hernandez was passing," Silva said. "She came in to check, his door was open. The thing was so startled, it went up the wall, and Professora Hernandez was so surprised, she transformed and reared up, and knocked the ceiling out. It fell, a true accident, and the lethifold was crushed. And Miguel was gone. The open suitcase... It was not difficult to put the pieces together. She tried to summon me, but I was in the jungle, and not so easily found. By the time I came back, the Board of Governors had made its decision. And they left, thinking all was well, but they overlooked Tomas' book, and the depths of his love for Miguel, and _sim_... The lengths too, a magical core will go to to argue against the unnatural instruction. It is why we do not erase Magicals, for just this reason. We do not forget easily, that which we are inclined by God to remember."

"What will happen to _Senhor_ Garcia now?" a third year boy ventured. "And what will happen to us now, Padre? Now that we know?"

" _Nao_ , truly... I do not know. It is not up to me, _Senhor_ Ignacio. I may make recommendations, but... I do not know. I will not allow them to harm you, but when it comes down to it... It is not up to me."

Shoulders hunched all over the hall.

"They missed the book," one of the seventh year girls said, eyes narrowing as she looked over the lines of frozen officials. "It will not go well for them, will it, if it is known that they missed the book?"

" _Nao,_ " Silva agreed. "Probably not."

"It is not Tomas' fault," she said decisively. "Carriera will know that. He is a bit much, but he is far too intelligent not to understand. If we understand, he certainly will. He will not want him to be charged. He will want him to know what happened so that he may recover."

" _Sim_ , this is true. He is a good boy."

The girl-  Lucius remembered her name suddenly: Carmen Lopez - she was tall, almost as tall as he and Ramone, with a slim, wide-eyed face and quite the most strangely styled head of hair he had ever seen rising from her brow as a high crest of a bird -  stood and crossed her arms.

"I think it best," she said clearly. "That we leave the book out of the story. That they go back to the government and tell them about Tomas, and how he loved your nephew, Padre, and how your nephew was his friend, and how they made a promise to remember each other, one that Tomas' soul and magical core would not let him forget. It will be a lesson for them, that erasing Magicals is a very, very bad idea. Perhaps they will think twice the next time, before making such a stupid, dangerous decision? We students  are not stupid. Our families are not stupid. We would have understood that it was an accident, and not a breach of the wards, and it would have taught all of us to be more careful. Only if we are not taught, we cannot learn or remember, can we?"

Lucius could not see Silva's face, but he could almost feel his lips twitch.

"I also think," Carmen Lopez continued. "That they would be taking a very stupid risk in trying to erase what you have told us about Miguel. It is easy to forget a story when you have heard it only once. It is much, much more difficult when you have heard it more than once. A very tricky proposition, mnemonically speaking?"

"You are a very intelligent young woman, _Senhorita_ Lopez," Silva congratulated her. "I am most impressed, as always, on your natural perspicacity."

" _Muito obrigada._ You are so kind. So... If it were up to me..." She mused. "They would leave our minds be. We would leave theirs be. We would have a mutual understanding that this book is not an essential part of the reports to the government. They would file their reports on Tomas, with a unanimous recommendation that he be remanded to - mmm. Your Order, perhaps?  They have excellent mind-healers, I understand - to manage his trauma. A recommendation that you would endorse personally, which is very understanding of you, I must say, Padre, considering that you did just very nearly lose your last remaining family member."

Lucius, despite his anxiety, was impressed. Brazil, he thought, would leave him with more than one regret... Narcissa would have absolutely adored this girl. He was not entirely sure just in the moment, that he did not.

"And how would we ensure their continued good will and cooperation again?" Silva inquired.

"Oh, that is easy." Lopez dug in her satchel, and tossed him a cube, of the type used to record academic lectures. He caught it neatly and examined it, eyebrows flying.

"Audio only," she said. 'I turned it on as soon as she..." She jerked her chin at the first woman in the line. "Handed you the document attempting to conscript you into doing a job which we all know that you, as a priest, are not licensed to do - mass obliviation. The obviously _forged_ document," she said pointedly to the frozen officials. "There is no way the higher-ups in the government would condone that; they would have to issue you a temporary permit along with the document if they actually were suggesting you employ the suggested course of action. A permit that would take three days to approve because of the number of people required to sign off on it against the probability of something going badly, including, and as it involves the entire student population of the only school of magic in South America, at least three of our approving representatives from the ICW. Oh, and of course, you would have to review with your superiors in any case, in order to confirm that you are not in any way compromising your vocational mandate." She examined her fingernails. "I cannot imagine that they would want to ask the ICW to approve you, a single untrained civilian, as a replacement for an entire team of trained professionals, particularly on the purported premise that you have sufficient magical power to again do the job of an entire team of thirty specialists all on your own, and better than they could manage it all together yet?"

The entire dining hall's worth of students was now staring at her in abject astonishment.

"You did not actually burn it, did you?" she asked the priest, lowering her hand.

" _Nao_ , of course not." Silva's lips twitched, openly this time. "I, like all of the men in my family, am affected with that tendency to the overly melodramatic. It was a little glamour, and the actual document is, if not in my pocket, in an extremely safe and secure location." He brushed Tomas Garcia's eyes again... Lucius watched as he moaned and thrashed a little.

" _Pobrecito,_ " the priest murmured, and patted the floor. Two med-elves promptly appeared.

"You will take _Senhor_ Garcia to the hospital wing," he instructed them. "And place him in the second warded quarantine unit. Keep him lightly sedated till I arrive again, and guard him against all save for myself, with extreme prejudice against those who would force you to retreat."

The med-elves, and _Senhor_ Garcia, flashed out. Silva boosted himself to his feet, tucked the cube in his pocket, and returned to the podium.

"Children," he addressed the student body. "I must ask your permission for something now. It is difficult, I know, but I hope you may listen and understand. I am not going to erase or modify your minds. I vow it before Jesus. But these guests of ours..." He gestured to the officials. "They are sure to demand reassurance that what you have heard today will stay among us. You have seen yourself that I have the proof of these courses of events, safe..." He patted his pocket. "I ask you now, if you trust me when I reassure you that I will not permit them to be lost - and if you will trust me to apply a geas to every one of you that will assure them, though I do trust all of you, that what we have heard here today _will_ remain among us. You will retain all of your memories," he said carefully. "You will simply not be able to discuss them with anyone but each other, and Jesus, of course. It would be a gesture of good will on our part, _sim_ , that will help them to understand that, as young as you are, you have the understanding of how difficult this situation is for everyone concerned?"

Lucius watched from his chair, as the students consulted with each other, murmuring and shifting, the older ones rising from their seats and moving among the younger ones, in their sections, to explain and reassure, and answer questions. They reconvened, and murmured again, and finally, nodded as a group to Carmen Lopez. She turned as the rest settled themselves.

"We agree, Padre," she said. "We all trust you." She squared her shoulders. "And we would ask you your permission for something in return."

" _Sim_?"

"We would appreciate it very much," she said. "If you would tell _Senhor_ Carriera that we are all so very grateful to him for his remembrances. We do not deserve them from him. None of us do. We do not... We will not presume on his forgiveness. But we all would like to talk to Jesus, soon, all of us, on the subject, and we would also like, with Carriera's and your kind permission, to hold a day of memorial for his brother, your nephew Miguel. We do not remember him, but he was one of us, and when the Long Night is over, God will remember the promises we did make to remember him, and will bring us all together again."

"I will tell him," Silva said. "And ask him. As for Jesus... You all are fully aware of His office hours. He welcomes you all, always."

She bowed lightly, and sat.

"If you will all close your eyes," he said quietly. "It will take perhaps a minute. It will not hurt, I promise you, and will change nothing of any of you."

Lucius watched from the small, invisible chamber as the priest moved from behind the podium, kneeling before the students, and raising his hands, palms up as if in supplication as he bowed his head... A soft blue glow rose from his palms, rising and rising, flowing forth and up, drifting and filling the vast room. It faded slowly, gently, before dissipating entirely. Silva waited, still on his knees, as the students opened their eyes, waiting in turn as he crossed himself and rose to his feet. Then they too, rose... The young Englishman watched in wonder as they all fell to their knees and bowed their own heads to him. Silva extended his hands over them and murmured a blessing. Despite himself, Lucius' eyes stung a little. When they were resettled, Silva brushed one hand across the other. The officials unfroze promptly.

"So?" the priest inquired of them.

"The students may return to their dormitories," the woman who had handed him the document said in clipped tones. Silva nodded. The students stood, and filed out. When the last had gone...

Silva raised his eyebrows as every wand in the room - thirty in total - was suddenly aimed at him, and furious waves of light passed over and around him. He stood patiently for several long minutes, waiting as they struggled... Finally, the woman cursed vilely in disgust, and lowered her weapon along with the rest of her company, their faces universally scarlet with both fury and exertion.

"It was a good effort," Silva said encouragingly. "Much better than the last time. You have all been practicing, _sim? Muito bueno_ ;  I am proud of you all. You may tell your masters that I give you all an O for your efforts, if yet the rather disappointing T for results. Before we part, however... Do we have our understanding on _Senhor_ Garcia?"

They said nothing, just turned their backs as one and filed out. Silva sighed as the door closed then turned to the wall, walking forward and reaching out as if to touch the window through which Lucius was looking... The young man stood as the priest came through, the window and wall sealing behind him.

"Sir," he said. Silva waved him off, and sank wearily into the second chair. Lucius sat silently opposite.

'If you have questions," the priest  said after awhile. "It is better to ask, _sim_?"

"How is it that their magic does not affect you?" he ventured. "I did not see you cast a single protective spell, much less a ward."

"My Animagus form is a phoenix, _Senhor_ Malfoy, and certain traits there translate no matter the form. I am virtually immune in any circumstance to all forms of magical mental manipulation, and that is what those..." He offered an extremely vulgar Portuguese expletive.... "were attempting just now. Again."

"Ah." He lapsed into renewed silence. Silva sat back.

"Ramonzinho is aware of my adaptation of his history," he said. "And has informed me that you are now aware of that history yourself. The others... They do not need to know the details, _sim_? It might be good for the truth to out itself, but it would not be good for him."

"No," Lucius said. "It would not." He fidgeted with the edge of his robe. "How long will it be before they are all gone, sir? The other ISEP students, I mean?"

"There will be a series of staggered portkeys over the next two days. I will be modifying their memories myself before each leaves. It must be done; it cannot be avoided, but I will not allow those butchers to..."

He stopped.

"And they will allow it?"

"I believe that I have just provided them with the reasonable demonstration on why they should not force the matter, _sim_?"

"I." He too, stopped.

"Mm?"

Lucius said nothing, just  wrapped his arms around himself and bent his head. Tears fell down his face, loosely, splashing on his robes.

"Tell me," the priest said gently. Lucius just struggled to control his tears.

"Is it about Ramone or your mama?"

He shook his head. Silva waited.

"I do not wish to continue these lessons," the young Englishman  said finally. His voice trembled. "I do not wish... If I must stay.... I wish you to assign me to another advisor."

There was a silence. He could hear Silva breathing.

“So," he said. "May I be permitted to ask why?"

"I do not..." He struggled again. "What is the point?"

"I do not understand."

"Professora Hernandez said that, my immediate safety aside, you have much to teach me yet, but I will not be allowed to remember. They intend to send me back Changed. I will not be allowed to remember anything. I will not be allowed to remember you."

Silva said nothing as he wiped his face on his robes.

"Why are you _bothering_ ?" Lucius said again. "Why put yourself through this, why..."

"You do not ask why I am putting _you_ through this?"

"It will be for nothing! Even if... Even if the courts were not to... I can see now that it would not be safe! I cannot hide from Riddle's mind; he is the most powerful Magical on the planet!"

" _Sim_ ," Silva conceded. "All this is true." His lips flicked. "Mostly true," he amended. "That last, it is yet open for debate."

"So you will assign me another advisor?"

" _Nao_. The lists are full. But if you do truly wish to discontinue these lessons, I will not refuse you. I have told you this already, there are other methods. We may begin to employ them, as you desire. You will go home a skilled duelist. Perhaps even an Animagus, though without the knowledge that is a vital and assigned part of the curriculum here. I will not intrude upon you emotionally, or as one who has promised to remember you. You have but to tell me how you wish to proceed, and so it will be."

"But you still have not answered my _question_! Why did you offer this in the first place? If it cannot... If the man you are making of me must be lost… I will do my country no good without the lessons, but I cannot go home with the learned results, or even the memory of them, so I ask again, what is the point? You are putting _yourself_ in vital danger, and for what? For nothing! I do not wish you to risk your life for me, and _you_ should not wish to risk your life for someone who will - can - never be permitted to remember you, or what you have taught him!!"

"Ah," the priest said softly. "We have come to it, then. The crux."

"The..”  So agitated was he now that Lucius actually screamed in inarticulate frustration, surging to his feet and kicking his chair so hard that it flew against the wall and broke into multiple pieces.. “What is _wrong_ with you? What were you _thinking_ ?  _I did not ask you to do this!_ You cannot just offer this without asking if it is acceptable to the person you are offering it to; that is not _acceptable_ ! It's too _much_ , I do not... _I did not ask you to do this!"_

"One does not ask God for His blessings," Antonio Silva said as he gulped for tearful, enraged  breath. "For His mercy, for His grace. One does not ask God to send you your heart from across the world, in the form of a sixteen-year-old boy with Lucifer's own face and Lucifer's own pride and a heart and soul defined by the need to serve others as Jesus came to serve us."

"Uh?" He stopped, staring at him: bewildered, caught off-guard.

"Come here to me, my Luizinho." The priest patted his knee. Confused and distressed as he was, Lucius responded automatically... He slipped down and knelt beside him. Silva handed him a conjured box of tissues as he collected his thoughts.

"We must begin by confirming your understanding on the essential  issue. You will have realized, I think, by now, _Senhor_ Malfoy," he said. "That I am not truly an Animagus?"

"Uh?"

"A magical core cannot produce from itself a second and distinct magical core. That is a matter of reproduction, rather than a matter of self-transfiguration, and reproduction involves two parents, not one. Even if the core could manage to reproduce on its own, as a single cell dividing... The second core would be human as well. A dragon cannot give birth to a unicorn, after all, or a basilisk to a manticore."

Lucius nodded.

"It logically follows then," Silva continued. "That as my core could not produce a second core... It did not. Yet there is a obviously a second core there. This tells us  that the second core had to come from an external source, and that somehow, at the moment when my studies of the Change were reaching the point of practical climax,  it conjoined with my original, entwining and interlocking around it, rather than merging.  So I am not a phoenix who becomes a man, nor a man who becomes a phoenix, but both - and when I switch forms, it is just that... Switching between two self-sustaining forms, rather than self-transfiguring the singular. Again I have two bodies, distinct bodies, separate bodies... But only one may occupy the given space at any given time. I do not have one body that changes shape," he emphasized. "I have two bodies that _ex_ change _space_."

His student digested that, and nodded.

"I do _not_ have," Silva said. "Before you ask, two souls. I have one soul, and when the phoenix is apparent, the soul within is Antonio Silva's as he would have been had God created his only body as a phoenix.  When the man is apparent, the soul within is still Antonio Silva's as he is, and was, when God created him as a man. When I am a phoenix, I am a phoenix, with a phoenix's mind. When I am a man, I am a man, with a man's mind. I am always fully aware that there is another form and body available to me, but my context and understanding of the world around me, and of myself, even though I remember how it was, and is, in the other body... is not ultimately relevant. It serves as reference only. Do you understand?"

"I... think so?"

" _Bueno._ Now. The context for your question... Why am I bothering.  There is a fundamental difference between my two forms that must be noted, _sim?_  Human beings define themselves, and others, in terms of their mutual relationships," Silva said. "To some, they are fathers or mothers, To some they are lovers, to some, they are enemies, to some, they are children. We define this person and that by the terms. He is an acquaintance to me. She is my grandmother. Always, the definition comes by the relationship of the other to the self, _sim_? Even at a remove, Carriera is Silva's nephew, and Silva is my advisor, therefore Carriera is my advisor's nephew.'

Lucius nodded.

"A phoenix does not do this," he said carefully. "There is no 'you', no 'I', no 'him', no 'her', in a phoenix's worldview. No ‘me’ or  'mine' or 'yours'. There is not even  'other'. There is only One. As a phoenix is born of flame, flame is both its reality and the basis of all metaphor - the lens through which it sees and defines everything around it. And while the aesthetics of the flame are of different and distinguishable shades,  the essential nature of the flame is singular. How would you say, then, that this would all translate to a phoenix’s perspective on relationships as humans would define them?"

"Erhm... It wouldn’t? Only…” He struggled. “If everything, as it is with the flame from which a phoenix is born, is part of a singular whole… Individuality, to that phoenix would be fact, not truth. Those aesthetic differences you mentioned in the flame are fact as well: not definitively valid?”

Silva nodded approvingly. “And?” he encouraged.

“And… As relationships are founded on reciprocated - no, _reciprocal  -_ defined affinity between singular entities… There can be no one with whom a phoenix has any kind of defined affinity  because the reciprocal, by very definition, demands at least two, and two, to a phoenix is an invalid concept?”

" _Sim_. Exactly!”

"It all sounds very confusing, I must say."

"Or conversely... Very simple? A matter of perspective again, that does depend on which pair of eyes you are looking through, _sim_?"

Lucius, despite himself, smiled at that - then frowned.

“What is it?” the priest inquired.

“I am not questioning you, sir,” he said cautiously.  “You are the expert after all.  But it seems to me that phoenixes _do_ recognize people individually. I have met one who does, our new Headmaster’s companion Fawkes.  He is very and especially fond of several of the students; not as fond as he is of Professor Dumbledore, but he does definitely recognize them.”

“It is a little confusing,” Silva agreed. “This way I have described to you… This way that phoenixes see… It is the view that it would have without the one crucial element that makes the difference. And now that we have established the foundation, we may expound a little on that difference, and the differences it makes, and you will see how it brings us full circle, and back together.”

Lucius settled attentively.

“There is one thing in existence," Silva explained. "My Luizinho, that allows a phoenix  an inherent understanding and grasp of the singular and the concept of singular affinity even as it examines the world through the lens of the uniform flame, and that is its heart. For a man, a heart is one thing: an organ within that pumps blood through the body. For a phoenix, the heart is a person - more specifically, the person to whom it bonds. This person, the heart, acts a set of external eyes and a source of referential context through which the phoenix may, and does, see and understand  its own physical and emotional and psychological parameters, and those of everyone about it. A phoenix's heart allows it to identify the _ones_ within the _One_ , as, in fact, God sees us - as individual, unique,  precious and completely irreplaceable facets of a seamless, unbroken whole, each completely and seamlessly whole within and of ourselves.”

Lucius struggled visibly to absorb that.

"What does that do for you?” he asked. “Specifically? As a phoenix? I mean, the ability to recognize people and yourself is very nice… But why is that necessary? It seems it must be necessary, to something or another. Something concrete, beyond- forgive me - personal validation.”

Silva laughed.

"It is, and it all comes back to what we phoenixes do. We heal. It is very difficult; there is just so much pain in the world, and when one  is unable to see the pain that each individual suffers _as_ that individual’s and _only_ as that individual’s… Well. The pain from each individual simply flows throughout the whole, the One, meeting and merging with the undistinguished pain of the undistinguished rest as a never-ending, unrelenting wave. _It never stops_. It never _can_ stop, for somewhere, somewhere in the world, someone is always suffering. We  burn with the need to end it, for any pain that threatens an individual, from the human perspective, is threatening _all of creation_ ,  from the phoenix’s. And past the point, we reach our capacity, and in our absolute agony of being incapable of fulfilling what we were born to do… We burn literally, and die ourselves.”

"But you come back!”

" _Sim_. We do… And that... That… Is down to our hearts. Because our hearts, through the wonder and magics of our reciprocal bonds, provide us with our context for the singular, and our own singularity… In the very moment of burning, of our dying,  when we are immolating, when the world is ending, when the One is ending... We are yet able to see ourselves as our hearts see us. We see ourselves through their eyes, as God sees us all - as distinct and singular and irreplaceable, even within the body of the whole. And we are reminded, we remember that we are  individuals, and that we are not bound to One ending. And we are reminded in turn that the One cannot end either, because each individual is the One, and the One is within each individual. Finally, we understand that as our hearts yet live - for we could  only come to this understanding through our hearts’ eyes, at the crucial moment, if he did yet live... Then all is not lost after all. And there is such joy in that thought, such joy, even at the moment of death..."

He paused.

"We are reborn with the joy of it," he said. "Literally. All is made anew, all possible again, through the context and understanding that our hearts provide us. All becomes possible, including the impossibility of our own rebirth. And the cycle starts over again, and eventually we burn again, choked in despair and unrelenting pain... But again, our visions of singularity that we see through our heart's eyes remind us at the pivotal moment of that absolute truth: that there is none before and none after anyone who can replace any of us. That though we are lost - though all seems lost - as we will never be forgotten by God as individuals, and in being remembered by Him who cannot forget, as we cannot forget our hearts… None of us, ourselves included, the _One_ included... Can ever truly die."

Lucius was silent. Silva traced his ear, his cheekbone.

"Ramone said that it is said that Lucifer seeks to destroy you," the young Englishman said finally. "That he takes you personally. That is why he targets your family, via the lethifolds. Do you think that he is seeking to find and destroy your heart, so that you will despair, and lose form, and burn without hope of return?"

"Ah well. It is a little simpler than that, I think. Demons destroy. Phoenixes heal. Demons seek to destroy that which heals. There is a reason there are no phoenixes in South America, _sim_? We have so very many demons here of various sorts."

'You're saying that lethifolds eat phoenixes?"

" _Nao, nao_. I imagine that the feathers alone would be very bad for their digestion, never mind the heartburn."

Lucius sniggered at that, then laughed. Silva grinned at him.

"There are more Dark creatures  than lethifolds," he said. "Some do prey on phoenixes. There are histories that tell of a once-quite-reasonable population in the mountains of Ecuador and Peru, but there was also recorded a quite unreasonable number of Peruvian Vipertooths. The dragons themselves may not be evil, but their poison ... I would not be surprised to learn that Vipertooths were originally, if not harmless, less than fatal, and that their enhanced poison was bred into them via blood magic."

"Really?"

"Mm. Norwegian Ridgebacks are the only other breed that are poisonous, and they are not typically fatally toxic. Extremely unpleasant, but straightforward enough to treat. Vipertooth poison... The dragons themselves are not Dark. Their venom, though, most certainly is, and is often used in potions that facilitate Dark Magic, _as_ a facilitator. The conclusion is that it is not natural."

"We did not learn that in Care of Magical Creatures," Lucius said, intrigued.

"Do not take this the wrong way, _Senhor_ Malfoy, but as you Europeans have that serious chronic problem with Dark Magicals, your schools, with the exception of Durmstrang, probably do not want to give your most likely prospects ideas."

"This is very true. Alright. I shall keep that to myself, then."

" _Bueno_. One never knows, yet, when a little esoteric knowledge may prove useful."

"What will happen to you," the young man said abruptly. "If we discontinue our relationship? Not just the lessons, but the other?"

"I do not know. I have no context. If I were purely a phoenix... A heart may die, and another is always born at the moment of death... But if it does not die, only retreats... _Nao_ , I do not know."

"When one dies, another is... You are saying that you have bonded before?"

" _Sim_. Though as is the case with the human heart, one does not have to be aware of its existence for it yet to beat. My heart... the one before you... He was never aware of the nature of our relationship. He was lost before I could reveal myself to him. He was lost before I truly understood what he was to _me_. It took his loss to make me understand."

"Ah."

Silva smiled briefly and understandingly.

"He was a fellow seminarian," he said. "My room-mate. In terms of human relationships... I identified him as my brother." He slid his left hand wand out of his sleeve. "I carry his companion with me now. Brazilian rosewood and fang of sun python. For him, in his memory and to be able to employ it...  As it is a left-handed wand and functions solely from the left... I learned to use my secondary hand."

“May I…” Lucius shifted. “Would it be inappropriate to ask his name?”

“It was - is - Gabriel. Gabriel Santa Cruz.”

“And he was lost on the day I was born?”

“ _Sim._ The fifth of July, 1954.”

“You know my… “ He paused. “Wait. Gabriel? Is he not another of your angels?”

“ _Sim_. I appear to be collecting them.”

"Could you ever bond with a woman?" he asked tentatively. "Do you think?"

" _Nao_. Phoenixes do not mate, and as the intimacy of the bond would almost certainly translate to the need and desire for the romantic and sexual on the part of both humans, I, as a phoenix, would be perplexed, to say the least. It would create intense inner conflict and alarm, and as I as a man know this, I as a phoenix automatically eliminate those with whom there is any possibility, ever, of conjugal attachment."

"Ah." He looked mildly relieved. Silva laughed again.

"You are my heart, my Luizinho," he said. "But I am not yours. There is another that carries yours with her, I think." He caught the  uncertain look, and translated kindly.  "e.e. cummings. February.  'i carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart).' Such is human nature, when one loves. With phoenixes, the quote is more  accurately  'i carry my heart with me(i carry him in my heart).''

Lucius looked down at his hands, twisted on his knees, the thumb of the left hand rubbing the palm of the right compulsively.

"And you cannot just... Set me down?"

"Why ever would I want to do that?"

"Oh, I do not know! Because you might _die_ of me if I prove, in my pride and arrogance, intractable after all, and become too much of an emotional burden?"

"Why do you not let me worry on that."

"Because it is not just _about_ you!” The frustration in his voice was so intense now that his voice actually cracked with it. “Do you think that I do not worry about _you_? Do you think that I want you to die because of me? I do not want you to die at all!"

"And I do not want _you_ to die at all," the priest returned. "It is a problem, _sim_? Or perhaps not. Perhaps together...  We may work to ensure that both of us live?"

Lucius just buried his face in his hands. Silva rubbed his back again.

"Your memories will not be lost," he said quietly. "You will return to England with your mind untouched. Whether you choose this course or another... It will not be an issue."

"You cannot promise me that!"

"I can. I will tell you this now; there _is_ a concrete solution. I cannot tell you the details at this moment, but the solution _is_ available. Every memory you make here... It _will_ remain intact and unaltered. _You_ will remain intact and unaltered. You have only to trust me."

"But what of Riddle? My returning unaltered may reassure me, but will only benefit him! And I cannot hide from him!"

"The solution I am talking on takes all  issues into account,"

"And you are absolutely _positive_ that it will work?"

" _Sim_. I promise you. I _promise_ you. You have only to trust me, and continue to work with me as you have begun, as I said, and all will be well.”  Cool fingers tilted his chin. Soft, dark eyes looked down at him. “You need not worry, my heart. I will take care of everything. I will take care of _you_."

Lucius couldn’t help himself at that. He didn’t even try. He just turned and buried his face in the black-robed lap. Silva pulled him up gently and wrapped his arms around him, humming to him softly… Lucius clung to him, pressing his face to his shoulder. Cool fingers rubbed his back slowly.

"What are you to me," he said, muffled. "If I am your heart, and Narcissa is mine?"

"You are such a human, _Senhor_ Malfoy." It was profoundly tender and amused. "In this form, for now, I am your advisor. In the other... I am your phoenix."

"You do not mind the possessive?"

"It is mutual, and what it is." He settled back. Lucius slipped down from his position on his knees, sitting at his feet and leaning against him. Silva stroked his hair and cheekbone.

"You are tired again," he observed.  "Grief is exhausting, _sim,_ in and of itself. We all know this here, so it is our tradition that when a loved one is lost that the child be granted two weeks of leave from classes with no expectations of assignments due later.  You will find your teachers most understanding."

"How may I take that kind of leave when my mother is not officially..." He could not finish the sentence.

"Inez will talk to your teachers and explain to them that you have been notified of her death, but that the public announcement is not to be made yet because of complicating political factors. They will understand. In terms of the students’ understanding… It is early in the year, and your workload is not yet at the point where the kind of immersive training your father is paying me to offer you will prove impractical. They will be informed that I will be taking you away  so that you may receive your dueling lessons as they are offered here in Brazil - in the jungle itself, while time permits.”

"That is allowed?” Lucius said dubiously.  “You may simply appropriate a student like that?”

“I am not appropriating you, _Senhor_ Malfoy. I am teaching you your vital lessons in a more appropriate environment.”

“What about Ramone?”

"Ramonzinho will be going home for the same period to visit his parents. They are quite upset, and wish to reassure themselves that he is recovered. We will drop him off, along with all of his homework assignments,  and then we two….” His eyes were soft and dark again as he looked down at him. “Or rather, we One - will take the opportunity to acquaint ourselves properly."

“And you will not be in trouble for missing school yourself?”

"We do have substitute professors available, and I will set my classes a great deal of homework besides. I am fairly certain that after the events of this week, none of them will be inclined to court my wrath  by neglecting it. And now that you are reassured on all possible fronts… What do you really think of my little plan?"

"It sounds brilliant." His eyes drifted shut. "I'm just so tired, sir."

"Sleep, then. Inez will come to fetch you when the school is clear, and I will remain with you." The cool fingers brushed his cheekbone once more. Lucius slid down a bit, his head resting in the black lap again.  Wearily - bone wearily, suddenly - he drifted off.

* * *

 

**The Garden Room**

**Malfoy Manor**

**Wiltshire England**

**1991**

"You awake there?" The voice was soft and husky, and more than a little amused. Lucius opened his eyes as Ren slid back off his lap and stood, tucking his biros away neatly.

"Yes," he said, and cleared his throat. "Yes. I am sorry. I was not sleeping, just... Is it finished?"

"Yep. We're good to go." The Warder accepted a transfigured hand mirror from Charlie. "Have a look."

His eyebrows raised as he obeyed... The circle of runes around his heart was exquisitely rendered, in a pattern of vines and tiny golden daffodils.

"Narcissus flowers?" Lucius smiled at him a little.

"There's always a bit of room for purely aesthetic leeway," Ren said, a bit awkwardly. "I thought you might like them. They'll sink in, and there she'll be, watching over you." Husband and wife looked at each other at that, and then at him, their expressions identical in their soft and moved appreciation and genuine affection. He flushed.

"You are a poet, Master-Adept." Narcissa stood, leaning in to brush his lips gently with hers. He blinked at her. "And an excellent artist. Thank you."

"Charlie's the poet. And I'm not really an artist; I just work with floral themes a lot. Hanging out with Gramps, you get a lot of practice in."

Lucius chuckled. "It did not hurt at all," he said.  "When you were inscribing them."

"You flinched a bit, but you were pretty far away, wherever you were. You okay to continue?"

"Yes. Now that we have started, I would like to get it over with." The taller man settled himself firmly. Narcissa reseated herself beside him, just as firmly. "What can I expect when the hex goes off?"

"You might feel a bit of tightness along the length of your arm," Ren said. "And an intense burst of heat within the body of the fence itself. It won't hurt, it'll just feel really warm. What I'm going to do is sit here, in front of you again while Niss holds your hand. We'll count down from three. With each number, breathe in and out. Close your eyes with it."

"What happens when the hex bounces, mate?" Charlie asked.

"Ah. Well, what I've done there is place four particular runes as jewels within the setting of the fence itself,  at each of the compass points here."  He reached out and touched them lightly.  "They're set to unspool..." He paused. "Okay. First things first. From the beginning: the lock Riddle's set within the Mark is formed of individual rotated runes, stacked one on top of the other in a pattern so that it allows only magic emanating from his core through. Basically, his magical signature acts as the key there. With me so far?"

The three nodded.

"He got that part right. It's practically the only damned thing he did get right. When he was stacking them in his nice, neat and surprisingly accurate pile, he placed three more runes into the stack at regular intervals. They're set to expel any magic that isn't his away from the stack. Violently. They won't just spray that magic anywhere and everywhere though; they'll redirect it along a very specific route plotted via blood magics. That route is tight. Solid, and very, very narrow. It traverses, in fact, the main vein in the arm that leads to the heart. Once it reaches the heart, and is released from the confines of the vein, it'll act exactly like backed up, pressurized water coming out of an overstrained hosepipe. It'll spray everywhere, and get all over everything. Not really a big deal, normally you'd go over dizzy and pass out while your compensating internal magic turned the equivalent wet-vac on it - but those runes back in the lock that expelled the foreign magics didn't just expel them, they reshaped them into the form of a confined reducto curse, set to go off when the reshaped magic exits the hosepipe and hits the heart itself."

Charlie whistled softly.

"What I've done here," Ren continued. "Is to put a diverting extension over the end of the hosepipe. As the reducto curse passes through, the hosepipe will changes routes right before it reaches the heart. The curse will then follow the parameters of the fence I've set here, the inner borders of which encircle, but don't actually touch the heart itself, and since the reducto's set to go off when it touches heart tissue, it won't go off at all. It'll just follow the detour. Every time it hits one of the four runes here..." He touched the compass points again. "The shape of the curse is modified a bit. By the time it reaches the fourth, it's all  back to pure raw magic. As the first rush of water hits the fourth rune, the extension on the end of the hosepipe, grafted now back to the vein, will draw all that now-raw magic back down the vein toward the Mark again. Once it hits the Mark, it'll go straight through the lock into the depths of the tattoo itself. It _can_ go through, because it's raw magic uncontaminated by any magical signature at all, including my own, since I didn't use my own wand or magics at any point when building the fence, just runes and runic inks, neither of which require the strictly personal touch. And since the lock's set to repel only magics sent it by someone else's core, the raw magic will slip through, like air blown through a straw."

"And what does all that raw magic do once it hits the interior?" Narcissa asked.

"Well, it's like I said, right? It _is_ raw; undirected and unshaped, and if you don't tell magic where to go and what to do once it arrives at any given destination, it goes poking about on its own. It'll ram itself into every available empty, undefined space, and there are a lot of those here, because Riddle didn't set anything but the lock properly. That will apply even more pressure to, and around, the already unstable sequences, and everything will just..." He put his hands together and pulled them apart. "Crumble."

"And nothing else is going to go off when things do crumble?"

"Nope. When you use bio-runes, you're scribing them on a live subject at a set point in its chronological lifetime. Even as you do set it, the body is aging and changing. Not a big deal in the short term, but if you want the effects you're aiming for to continue, you have to go in once and awhile and adjust the parameters to accommodate for the biological changes occurring in the host. It's especially imperative if you're working with a child or an adolescent who hasn't hit his or her full growth. There, you need to go in every three months or so. How old were you when he put this on you, Malfoy?"

"Eighteen," Lucius said. "Almost nineteen. He had other means of controlling his followers till he'd done developing his final product."

"And at your height, I'm guessing you weren't quite done your own final product?"

"No. My last inch was the result of a late growth spurt at twenty."

"There you go. He should have gone in then and checked to make sure everything was still solid, and at least twice every year after till you hit twenty five. After that - every three years, at minimum. Since he didn't, not once, and as the shape of every one of the spells he's set here within the Mark itself are at least partially defined by bio-runes, they've all weakened as your body's changed with age."

"What about the summoning and pain-inducing charms you mentioned, that lie beneath?" Charlie asked, fascinated. "The ones he set with blood magic? You said those were properly set?"

"Those were,  but because they've been sitting directly under the bio-runes, they've been affected too. You sit a bag of apples on top of a loaf of bread, the bread's going to get a bit smooshed, right? And if you leave it long enough, the bread will smell and maybe even taste like apples too? There won't be any actual apple in it, but you'll have, nevertheless, bread that is convinced it's part apple. In this case, you have blood magic that's convinced, after all this time, that it's part bio-rune. It's not, but if you encourage it along that line of thought, it'll go along with what you have in mind, and come quietly if you say 'but everyone else is doing it', right?"

The three others looked at him, and at each other.

"Alright," Niss said. "To summarize... You trigger the hex, the reducto curse sets off, reaches the fence, is rerouted, is unspooled as it travels along the fence,  and goes back through the vein toward to the Mark. Once there it breezes through the lock, and goes looking for empty flats within the tenement building, but once it starts hanging pictures, the walls reveal their rot and all collapse, right through to the foundation?"

"Yep."

"What happens after that?"

"I pick the lock, open the door and start clearing out the rubble. Then I run the vac quickly to get rid of the dust, give 'er a quick spit-shine-and-polish, and you're officially back on the unemployment line, all long-term pension plans dissolved."

"Please tell me that I'm not the only one who feels really stupid right now," Charlie said to the Malfoys. "Even if you're just being polite?"

"You are not, and I am not," Lucius reassured him. "And I will not feel any of it, Lawrence? Beyond the fence activating?"

"The fence is already activated. It's just waiting for the incoming now. Half an hour from the moment we set the hex off should be more than enough to let the conditioner soak in and soften things up within the body of the Mark again; it'll take about another hour to run that vac I mentioned and wipe down the surroundings, and then I too, will be ready for a glass of whisk..." Ren felt a nudge on his arm, and looked down. The black snout had emerged entirely from under his rolled sleeve, and its owner was slithering out in entirety.  Narcissa leaned over, enchanted.

"It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed. "The detail is amazing! Where did you get it done, Ren?"

"Erhm. Well...."

"Souvenir from Sunday's party," Charlie said easily. "I've got one too: the male version. I stepped out of the fire, and there they were, both on me originally, and the female decided to take up residence on Mate here as soon as he caught me as I hit the floor."  He slid his fingers under the back of his own collar. "Here, you. Come  on out; the nice lady wants to meet you. " He removed his hand, and turned it over. The palm-sized tattoo of Karrash gleamed up at him.

"May I?" Lucius asked. The wrangler shifted onto the coffee table beside Ren, before the other two, and held out his hand. Lucius touched the scaly head lightly - and jumped violently, nearly falling off the sofa.

"Careful there." Ren caught him neatly. Even as his left hand touched Lucius' bare shoulder there was another black flash.

"What the..."

"Lawrence?" Lucius said. "Charles? Why do I have your tattoos on my bo-"

He jolted again. All three grabbed him at him simultaneously - and even as they all touched him, the twin tattoos, first Karrash, then Mola, slid down the length of his right arm as a greased banister, landed on the Dark Mark, and dove into the open mouth of the skull, past the snake and into the depths. The four Magicals blinked simultaneously, their every sense flooded, suddenly, with the sweet, rich scent of daffodils. Still holding onto him, Narcissa, Charlie and Ren jerked hard as Lucius threw back his head, his entire long body arching and bucking and convulsing in their grip.

"Lu..."

"Char...

"Ma..."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The Mark on Lucius Malfoy’s forearm didn't so much disappear as dissolve. The wash of garish colour melted in on itself, spreading out: thinning and stretching and flooding. The vein in his arm bulged, glowing and distended, as the magics within raced toward their target destination and diverted neatly into the fence, spinning through each of the four runes. Through their hands, each touching a part of Lucius' body, and through his body, each other, the other three felt the rising heat around their own hearts building and building... The first blast of magic hit the final rune and passed through... But instead of re-diverting back into the vein and back toward the ruin of the Mark, it branched off again as three new and unexpected extensions sucked equal portions of the raw magic away and along new and deep internal paths defined, not by runes or wands, but by the concentrated force of Horntail magic now resounding through all of them. The first path shot through Ren's fingertips into his body through a crackling bolt of sea-foam green, the second  blazed under Charlie's flattened palms in a blue-tinged, near-silver jagged arc, and the third, a dark, warm brown, nearly sent Narcissa into convulsions with the force of its power... There was a moment, a single moment, where all stilled, and they all fought for breath, leaning and falling forward into each other; ice-blond, pale gold, riotous ginger-and-gold and light, soft brown hair mingling...

And then a final huge rush of power slammed through all four again as four distinct magical signatures slammed into each other, not bouncing, but drawn and focused through the one remaining stable sequence in the Mark - Riddle's lock - and reformed into something impossibly complex and interlocking rather than a single merged pattern. The four distinct signatures in the pattern flexed and flexed, each attempting to pull away and assert its desperate individuality, shoving and jostling for space in the chinks and shifting spaces, and all only succeeding, in the end, in binding themselves on every deeper levels...

Then four distinct universes shattered, shuffling and re-piecing themselves together as defining image after defining image after defining image from four distinct lifetimes flashed through four sets of blank eyes, all identical in colour now as the deepest blue focal point of the hottest heart of flame.


	13. NOTE

I've not abandoned you all, I promise! I'm hoping to have the next 2 chapters up (at once) by the end of the week, but it's the ENTIRE battle of the cabals, and I'm being super fussy because it's like Chapter 13 of Strange Familiar PLUS, with the duel and all - epic and a freaking emotional roller coaster. And it has to be EXACTLY EXACTLY RIGHT! 

All I can say is find a nice quiet place to read it, and bring LOTS OF KLEENEX.

xoxoxoxox   
Blue Maple


	14. Wednesday Evening (1): Storm Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Cabals: Part 1 of 4. Yes, yes. I KNOW....  
> M/F (not terribly graphic, but there)..

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ **

**_Wednesday, November 26th_ **

**_6.00 P.M_ **

During the final and most terrible year of Voldemort's War,  there was only one way that any of the members of the Order of the Phoenix felt secure in identifying and communicating with each other, and that was through their Patronuses. It was a well known fact, after all, that no Death Eater could cast one; any active practice of Dark Magic suppressed the ability, and they quite simply could not be faked. Polyjuice was one thing, but there was no spell in existence that could imitate the reflection of a person's soul.

When the just-graduated Frank Longbottom pointed out that truth and all of the possibilities inherent early in the summer of 1974, his compatriots were both delighted at his ingenuity and dismayed at the task ahead of them. Casting a corporeal Patronus was no small feat, and in no way within the repertoire of even a quarter of the recruited members. Their brand-new _de-facto-_ by-virtue-of-the-fact-that-no-one-else-had-a-clue-after-the-last-to-hold-the-position-had-gone-and-got-himself-offed Chief Strategist's response to their reservations was both concise and completely characteristic.

"Stop your bloody whinging," the square-faced, blunt-jawed young man said tersely.  "And get back to practicing. Only puling and puking over the impossibility of finding something happy to think on right now  is a bit counterproductive, isn't it, and it sure as bloody hell isn't helping _me_ along any. Now shut it, all of you. I'm picturing Allie blowing me here, and hearing you minging sods all sniffling  'Frank, Frank, it's so haaaaaard', however gratifying, is not putting me in the mood."

" _La_ , Longbottom!" seventeen-year-old Fabian Prewett sniffed. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?'

"Aaaaaand there goes that one," Frank said. "Let's try this, then." He'd pointed his wand at the red-headed boy, roaring with laughter at his expression over his sudden arseful of boils as he slashed down. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" A huge, silvery German Shepherd swirled into being, snarling and slobbering viciously. Fabian, mid-howl, slashed as well, and a sharp-faced fox shot out of his wand as promptly as a cork from a bottle, frolicking off to rub noses with his brother Gideon's marten.

"Good job." Frank patted his former dorm-mate's shoulder and cleared away the boils with a wave of the wand. "What got it up for you in the end? Don't tell me you get a hard-on for a blistered behind?"

"No. I was picturing Allie blowing me," Fabian Prewett said sweetly. "In apology for your infecting me with your diseased wand."

The expression on Frank Longbottom's face at _that_ had provided fully a quarter of the present members with a memory that would fuel their own Patronuses throughout all the horrific years that followed.

However hard, crude and blunt young Longbottom had proven, though, the man _was_ still a Longbottom, and _that_ meant that he Got the Thing Done. Less than one month after he'd decreed that his troops were to follow orders and pony (dog, fox, marten, rooster, weasel, wolf, what-have-you) up, every one of them was capable, as he so indelicately put it, of blowing their wads on command. With results like that, never mind his positively eerie knack for anticipating the opposition's plans, much of his aggressive, hard-nosed and more often than not, downright offensive approach was, if not forgiven, tolerated. And when, after Voldemort's War ended in 1981, there had followed that tacit agreement among the survivors that, however human their parents had been in real life, the children of the fallen had the right to think on them as heroes....

Of all of those children, the survivors agreed, none would benefit from that policy quite as much as Neville Longbottom. Mind you, Allie MacMillan Longbottom had been a genuinely lovely individual: kind and sweet as the day was long as long as her territory wasn't being threatened or her competence challenged, anyway. The battles between her and her mother-in-law over primary rights to Frank (and for a few short months, their son) had been as epic as the war itself, and as for her competence... As the single hardest-hitting front-liner in either army, rumour had it that Riddle's right hand, known to those outside the immediate Inner Circle (and they all, even Bellatrix Lestrange, had had to take an Unbreakable Vow to avoid leaking his actual identity to the rest), as the General, had put a personal hit out on her the first time he saw her in action. The rumour was completely false, Alastor Moody told the Order when he returned in the spring of 1976. The General hadn't put a hit on her, he'd put a _bounty_ on her, on the principle that, personal satisfaction notwithstanding, she'd be of far more use to Riddle Imperiused and with her talents rerouted.

Insofar as Frank was concerned though...

Augusta Domitia Claudia, Dame Lady Longbottom had told her small grandson quite frequently - at least three times a day since he was old enough to process what she was saying to him - that he was absolutely nothing like his father. That being said, in all of the years he'd had to suffer through the hearing, it never once occurred to small Neville that there were times she might have meant it as a compliment.

Yes, Augusta Longbottom had completely adored her only son. He was as morally uncompromising, as brave and loyal and fierce as any proper Gryffindor - as morally uncompromising, brave and loyal and fierce as his mother had ever been. He and his wife, as she'd told Neville again and again, had been well-known and well-respected by all who knew them and worked with them.

She had always been very careful though - very careful indeed - to refrain from employing the word 'well-liked' in her descriptives. The boy had suffered quite enough, and would continue to do so his entire life, long after she was gone and he was left as his parents' sole caregiver... There was absolutely no reason, she had reasoned right from the start - and everyone who had known him had again agreed without hesitation - that little Neville Frank Longbottom should ever have to know, or deal with, the realization that his undisputed hero of a father had been _the_ greatest natural jack-ass in the history of Anywhere.

Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat at the Head Table on the early evening of Wednesday, November 26th, 1991, and thought on that as she watched as Hogwart's new Headmaster, the elder Neville 'Neil' Cartwright (Longbottom) eat his dinner... As far as she knew, he hadn't yet told Augusta of his and Ren's ultimate reason for crossing all of time and space, only that they were here to get rid of Riddle and to perform an unspecified ritual afterwards. Discreet, purposely vague inquiries of Severus Snape had confirmed Minerva's suspicion that God and His Opposite were, indeed and yet, both in the as-of-yet unrevealed details. Alice and Frank Longbottom in their world had, indeed, been as sweetly and fondly remembered as the residents of that world had anticipated that they would be here.

It wasn't her place, Minerva had thought, to disillusion her world's new immigrants, though she did intend to make sure that Augusta, once enlightened, would make absolutely sure that young Neville, once returned, was fully aware of what was coming before the well-meaning idiots returned his parents to him... There was always the hope, of course, that the intervening years and the shock of what had been lost would offer said parents a little perspective, but all else being equal...

She rather doubted it. There were miracles, after all, and then there was just the plain, unadorned _improbable._

And there could be no question, of course, of leaving them as they were. It would have been one thing if they were, or had been, evil, but they'd never remotely qualified there. As bigoted, homophobic, species-ist (Minerva couldn't _wait_ to see the bloody bugger's reaction when he realized that his mother had effectively adopted an ex-werewolf) and just plain ill-mannered as he had been, Frank genuinely disapproved of the Pureblood agenda and the persecution of Muggles. Ensouled beings were ensouled beings; the Dementors' cross-cultural culinary experimentation was proof of that, and even given the bemusing and personally discomfiting particulars...  Live and let live, he'd declared, though separately of course; never the twain should mix and mingle anywhere but through books, films, and pub food.  Muggleborns and half-bloods were an exception, obviously; magic was magic, and Muggles weren't actually _inferior,_ after all. They were just...

Different.

And while 'different' was certainly more than enough of an excuse to promote and support firmly segregated societies, it certainly wasn't, in young Longbottom's book, in and of itself, enough to justify maiming, torturing and killing anybody. Those things... Those things were punishments that had to be actively _earned_.

Minerva sipped her tea quietly as she thought on the past, and the potential future, and the Patronus that had come silently through her window last night in Caithness just minutes after said Headmaster had kissed her breathless one last time, and slipped back to his own quarters at Hogwarts through her bedroom floo. It had been, not their first, but their third night together... Last Sunday evening, and, lacking the emotional wherewithal to return immediately to the school after Ren and Charlie's painfully heartrending reunion, the two colleagues had shamelessly shirked their duties and abandoned their  associates in favour of dinner and a show instead... Neil had been the perfect gentleman, of course, and once they'd returned, he'd walked her, as had become his habit of the evenings, home, or at least to her office floo... As she reached for the floo pot, he'd  stepped back courteously, hands in his pockets, his eyes brown and warm, and that whimsical, self-deprecating smile on his face.  It was, Minerva McGonagall thought, a very dear face... She stood there for a moment, looking up at him, floo powder in hand. His eyebrow had quirked inquiringly. She made an abrupt decision. Life, she decided, was too damned short to wait on the socially approved dance - _and_ too damned long.

"I've had a verra nice time," she said, her accent softening and deepening as, again, it tended toward when they were alone now. "Wi' you today, Ne'il." His head cocked a little at that last, and at the odd little twist that turned it from 'Neil' to 'Neville',  but he only bowed lightly, hands still in his pockets.

"Would you li' to come hame wi' me?" she said directly. He considered her for a long moment, then moved to stand before her as he looked down, close enough so that their robes, if not their bodies, touched... The other half of his smile turned up fully. Minerva McGonagall's knees very nearly melted.

"Ye are a true rogue," she said severely. "Mr. Cartwright, to turn the magic of such a smile on a lady li' that."

"Am I?" Mr. Cartwright inquired.

"Aye. You are."

"And are you?"

"Am I ... What?"

"A lady."

Her eyebrow arched. "D'ye want me to be?"

He threw back his head and roared at that.

"Let's find out, shall we?" he said, and much to her startled surprise, flexed his knees and literally swept her off her feet into his arms. He stepped into the great hearth, the floo-pot caught magically out of her hand and falling to their feet. A great sparkling cloud rose all around them: green and silver, crimson and gold.

"Auldshire Manse," Neil said clearly. Ten seconds later, he stepped out neatly into her kitchen, not a hair out of place.

"Ye ha' style," she complimented him. "I'll gi' ye tha'..." It was cut off abruptly as he set her on her own feet and caught her face in his big solid hands, and her mouth in a deep, decidedly _not_ -gentlemanly kiss. Minerva McGonagall's mind blanked quite thoroughly. He smelled of coffee, spiced ale, young earth and lavender, and tasted of strong tea with honeyed cream, and ginger tea-cake with raspberries: all things civilized and proper, and behind it all, something wild and primal and deep that took her breath away.

"No," Neil Cartwright said as he pulled away. "In answer to your question... No, I don't believe I do. Lovely table you have here, Professor McGonagall."

"Thank ye, Headmaster," she said, as he pulled the pins out of her hair. Her hair, black as ebony yet, tumbled down. "I quite li' it."

"Fantastic." He boosted her up on it. "I'm so glad." She pointed at the fireplace. It roared and crackled. He took her wand from her and tossed it aside, along with his own.

"Last call," he said.

"Ye talk too much," she informed him, and again, voicing her previous consideration... "Life's too short. _And_ too long."

"Mm," he agreed, and seized her bodice, and ripped it wide, all the way down to the hem. His eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her, eyes raking over her deliberately and slowly. She was as lean and strong a woman as she was a cat: all long bones and elegance.

"Tha' was a new dress, Ne'il Cartwright," she said severely as his eyes returned to her face, that half-crooked smile back. The eyes were as dark a brown as ever, but the gold... The gold shone behind.

"I'll buy you another one."

"Ah well," she said. " _Tha's_ alright then."

"Min?"

Back in the present Wednesday, Minerva shook her head slightly. The Headmaster, seated beside her, was holding the tea pot questioningly.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. He put the pot down and grinned at her, just a hint of that gleam of gold lurking... As he reached for the peas, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black entered the hall. Minerva caught Remus' eye as he slid into his chair. He smiled at her, his sharp canines shining wetly at her, just for a moment. The glint in _his_ eyes was not gold, but flat, feral yellow. Sirius said nothing, just pulled over a platter and began to pile his plate high with beef and chicken. No bread or potatoes of any sort, just pure protein... Padfoot, she recalled, never mind that no one back in the seventies had known he was Padfoot, never indulged in starch, or even veg, the day before battle. Remus nibbled lightly on a slice of bread and butter, and filled the first of what would be, over the course of the evening, many, many cups of strong black tea... Down the table, Severus was going straight for the coffee, no solids at all, and Eulalia, or rather Lily, was pouring gravy over a full plateful of mashed potatoes with a steady hand and cool, focused eyes. Her black sleeve fell back a bit from her left wrist, revealing a brand new wand holster, and within it, her brand new wand, purchased the same afternoon that her old one had been destroyed in Neil's office.  

Minerva McGonagall sighed internally. Lily Evans Potter was quite possibly the most irritating woman in any world, but when push came to shove and wand came to battle, there was a  reason she and Allie Longbottom had decided to exchange godparental duties. Allie may have been the hardest hitter on either side of the war, but Lily... What Lily lacked in comparative oomph, she more than made up for in accuracy. The woman was a sniper, pure and simple. What she aimed at, she hit (unless one was a cat, of course): case in point, one Tom Riddle. The Order's universal consensus had been that though one of them might fall in the war, there was no way that both would, and as they were both expecting at the same time, the two women had agreed that the one would simply take over for the other if it became necessary.

It was worth noting, Minerva reflected, that neither of their husbands had been involved in the decision. As far as she was aware, the two women hadn't even bothered consulting them. No surprise there, really, as it was a foregone conclusion among everyone who knew them that even if the two men did survive the war, neither of them would be the ones doing the raising... Every single member of the Order of the Phoenix, in fact, male and female, had winced when Allie had announced her pregnancy, for Frank, as enthusiastic and supportive as he was on his beloved's ability to up the enemy body count, was when it came right down to it, just as much an insensitive traditionalist as the star of his favourite Muggle television show, one Archie Bunker... It was by no means standard Order policy to send pregnant members to the front, and if the young man had stuck to that line and moderated his personal approach even a little (NO-GODDAMN-BLOODY-WIFE-OF-MINE/WHAT-KIND-OF-MAN-DO-YOU-TAKE-ME-FOR/ YOU WON'T-BE-HAPPY-UNTIL-I-HEX-MY- FUCKING-BALLS-OFF-AND-OFFER-THEM-UP-POWDERED-DOWN-ALONG-WITH-EVERYTHING-ELSE-YOU'RE-INHALING-THESE-DAYS-WILL YOU/CHRIST-ALMIGHTY-PUT-THE-BISCUITS-DOWN-ALREADY-BEFORE-YOUR-ARSE-GETS-AS-OUT-OF-CONTROL-AS-YOUR-MOTHER'S) to one Lucius Malfoy's suggested tactful alternative (I'm-so-sorry-darling-your-due-date-and-that-rumoured-pesky-prophecy-both considered-the-possible-future-hope-of-all-generations-just-might-be-blossoming-within-you-right-now/ It-would-be-both socially-irresponsible-and-just-plain-poor-strategic-planning-to-send-you-to-the-front/ Might-I-suggest-a-lateral transfer-to desk-duty-for-the-duration-along-with-hourly-bouts-of-pickles-tea-and-oral-sex), he might have gotten laid a little more frequently in the following months. As things were, his preferred approach had ensured that, by the time mother and son had gone into hiding, all of Great Britain knew that Alice MacMillan Longbottom didn't shag pigs.

As for Jamie Potter, his ultimate ability to parent hadn't even been in question, for no one, not even his wife, had honestly been able to say that they'd expected him to survive the war. Hungarian Horntails, Minerva reflected, had absolutely nothing on her former protege  when it came to the grand and glorious melodramatic gesture. He'd go down saving someone else, she'd known, but go down he would... Even the birth of his son hadn't been enough to subdue his foolhardy, vain-glorious tendencies.

She'd loved the boy, Minerva had, but at least in part (probably mostly in part) because he'd  burned so damned _brightly_. He'd burned a lot of people, there was no doubt about that, but to those with the wit to see it - and yes, she thought, his foolish, over-indulgent parents had had that wit - there was no point in trying to subdue him. There was just something there, in him, that bespoke an early end. A glorious one, maybe, but an early one nevertheless, and what had been the point, really, she'd thought, of muting his fire when they were all so definitively bound to lose him so soon? As his Head of House and his favourite professor, Minerva had been fully, fully of aware of what a git Jamie Potter could be, but from the first time she'd first laid eyes on him in the autumn of 1971, war was blooming like a bloodied rose on the closing horizon, and she'd known that he wouldn't survive to see the end of it. So he'd burned, and she'd allowed it, doing little, if anything, to quell him, and in the end...

She sipped her tea. Neil smiled at her sideways, elbows on the table as he cradled his mug in his big hands. As the weeks had passed, he'd gradually abandoned formality, and the students were quite used the sight of him now trucking about in just his corduroy or tweed trousers and jumper, at least between meals, and now, more often than not, with his robes hung over the back of his chair _at_ meals. He was always perfectly groomed and tidy, and dressed absolutely impeccably when out-of-school company was expected, so even the Slytherins weren't inclined to quibble. That last, of course, was helped along by the Headmaster's unabashed and open House pride. He was wearing tonight, not his orange jumper, but a classic Aran in tasteful Slytherin green, the distinctive pattern threaded through in silver. She wondered if he would change it before the meeting... Somehow, she rather doubted it. It would, when it came right down to it, make that much-needed point.

"Alright, then?" her brand-new lover asked her quietly.

"Of course," she said, and thought on the Patronus come through her window last night after he'd departed her bed - a magnificent eagle, stately and proud as its caster. She'd listened to the brief, terse words that followed in Amelia Bones' crisp, efficient tones, and when the message was delivered, and the eagle was gone to its next target, she'd gone to the window and pulled back the curtain, and looked out at the glimmering, cold, near-perfect circle of the not-quite full moon... Her loosed dark hair fell past her shoulder-blades. She closed the curtain, and returned to the bed, and sat on the edge amid the quilts and stared into the small hearth.

 **_The call has gone out. Gathering tomorrow P.M. Say nothing to_ ** **_anyone_ ** **_till the next, under the assumption that all walls are infested and all allies unfriendly. In the meantime, prepare for all eventualities._ **

The words, from the particular source, on the particular night, after the particular month, could only mean one thing. Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet, and went to her writing desk, pulling out the chair and retrieving parchment and quill and ink. She scribed three paragraphs neatly and exactingly, signed her name and the date beneath, and dried the ink magically before folding and tucking the page into an envelope... She sealed it magically again, and wrote six words on the front.

That done, she placed the envelope in one of the nooks of the desk, retrieved her dressing gown, and stepped through the floo directly to her office. There, she transformed to a cat and slipped out the door, through the dark halls of the castle and up to the Headmaster's office. No password was necessary; there was now a tiny rune at the base of the gargoyle's pedestal, keyed to her magical signature as it was relayed while she was in Animagus form. She slipped through the office and up another staircase to his rooms, softly lit as he emerged, filling the door in his powerful nudity and toweling his hair dry from the shower. He grinned as he saw her sitting on the bed, tail curled demurely around her feet as she licked a paw at him. He tossed his towel aside and strode toward her. She blurred, standing as he approached, and he caught her face in his hands again, and kissed her long and sensuously and hard.

"Not that I'm not thrilled to see you," he said. "But what happened to 'I really reckon we should get some sleep'?"

" _You_ said that. I simply said 'mmhmm." Her accent, now that they were back at Hogwarts, reverted automatically and abruptly to its strict, prim parameters... Neil found it, as he did her ironed flannel nightie and plaid dressing gown, both amusing and dead sexy. She reached down between them. His eyes lidded at her, and her clothes were suddenly gone.

 **"** If this is what you're like at seventy three," she told him, "I can't even begin to imagine what you were like in your prime."

"This is my prime," Neil informed her. "I self-transfigured for the first time at this age, and that and the magics from the school when I made the Headmaster's Oath gave me a real biological boost. In all ways. Even got my hair back, and wasn't that lovely?"

"You were bald?"

"No. Receding a bit though." The prim, he thought was entertaining, but then again... So was kissing it out of her, and he dug his hands into her hair and bore her back to the bed, with, if no actual ceremony, a surprising amount of grace for such a big man.

'De'nitely not a problem the noo," she agreed, and, her hand still firmly placed, squeezed.

"Shut it, woman," he said, and kissed her again. "I'm sure you can find something more to do with your mouth than talk, mm?"

"Mm," she purred. "As long as ye're willin' to return the favour?"

"'Course," he said, and swung about with that surprising lithe grace. "I'm a bear, not a pig."

"I'm sure your mother would be delighted to hear it," Minerva said, before she could stop herself. There was a moment of silence at that… Her new lover propped himself up, looking down the bed at her.

"I don't know what it's like here," he said. "But in my world, bringing up one's parents in bed? Kind of kills the mood." He looked amused again, but at the same time...

"My apologies, Headmaster." She traced a finger over the (very, very, very) obvious as they resettled. "Mm. Are ye sure ye've never wanted to play Quidditch? Wi' a bat like this on hand, ye'd make a natural, ne'er mind self-equipped, Beater."

"Much better," he said. "And... No. I haven't. Brooms are very nice - I've even made the acquaintance of a select few in my time, as you well know - but actually riding them has never been part my preferred recreational repertoire."

 _And I'm sure your father would be delighted to hear_ that, she thought, but only silently, in her head this time.

"What, never?" she inquired instead.

"No, never."

"What, _ne_ _ver_?"

"Well, hardly ever," he qualified. "Only on birthdays and extremely special occasions."

"Mm," she said. "In other words, a conversation for another time."

"Well done, Professor McGonagall," he congratulated her. "That's one well-earned O for you..."

* * *

 

Minerva watched as the tables shifted and murmured. The students had been on edge all day, likely because most of their professors had been on edge. As per the directive, not one had said a word to any of the others, but they'd all have received their messages by now. At six twenty precisely, a tiny scrap of parchment appeared on her bread plate, words up, remaining just long enough for her to read the message - **_M.M. 11 p.m., portkey, 2nd floor staff loo, 3rd stall left._ ** As soon as her eyes had processed the last word, the parchment dissolved. Beside her, Neil set his mug down, the scrap of paper on his carrots dissolving, and half-turned, rummaging in his inner robe pocket. He extracted a light parchment envelope. She watched as he withdrew the three folded pages and the smaller sealed envelope within.  

He read the pages through, his initially surprised and quizzical expression fading, then again, carefully, before slipping them all back into his pocket. He sat back, stretching his legs out and frowning down at the table, fingers tapping. She touched his hand. He looked at her. She nodded down. He retracted the growing claws. Sirius, too, was watching him out of the corner of his eye, gnawing on a chicken leg. Remus just poured himself more tea. Down the table, Filius Flitwick passed Lily the untouched gravy beside his elbow. She, in turn, passed him her untouched slice of lemon pie. Filius ran on sugar during  battle the way Muggle cars ran on oil and gasoline; there were at least half-a-dozen similar empty dessert plates already stacked tidily before him.

Neil shook himself lightly, and leaned back, tilting his chair slightly.

"Professor Snape," he said  to the man sitting three places down, as he reached for his own pie. "A word in my office after your charges are settled, please?"

"Of course, Headmaster." Snape refilled his coffee mug without turning his head, and that was all, till several hours later, when, locking the door firmly behind them, Neil handed him the first two of the three pages. The Potions Master scanned them, his lips tightening, and swore vilely.

"That's what I said," the Once-and-Future Neville Longbottom agreed as the pages, keyed to the second of its two projected readers, self-dusted. "They won't be safe once this gets out, and none of it comes down to either of them."

"Suggestions?"

"Best if they're not together, I think. Can you manage Branwen if I take care of Jax?'

"Of course. What of the rest of the issues here?"

"Nothing we can do about them right now. Go."

Snape cursed again and squaring his shoulders, unlocked the door and made his way down to the dungeons, and presumably,  twelve-year-old-Branwen-of-the-Cardiff-Driscolls. As soon as he was gone, Neil rapped the wall. It slid open and he stepped through, directly into Jax King's hospital cubicle. She was sitting  cross-legged on her bed in her favourite set of fluffy pink unicorn pajamas,  nibbling on a caramel and taking notes from her Transfiguration text. She looked up, her face lighting in pleasure as she saw him... He touched his finger to his lips swiftly, silencing her before she could greet him, but before her look of alarm could develop properly, he took the small envelope from his pocket and handed it over. She slid her finger through the seal, her face blanching as she read.  

_Darlin'-_

_Shit's going down a little faster than I anticipated, and Gramps will make sure you're safe till it's all sorted. He knows we talked; I had to tell him so that he can take care of you if the (extremely, extremely, extremely) unlikely happens and I don't make it out. That's just me being responsible though, so_ _don't worry._   _All will be well, I swear it._

_If there's anything you can, and are willing to tell him, tell him once you get where he's taking you. The place is under Fidelius, so you don't need to worry. The house-elf's name is Vinny. Just call for him, and whatever you need, he'll bring you._

_See you soon,_

_R._

Paper and envelope dissolved in her hands... She looked up at the Headmaster, now neatly and rapidly stuffing all of her things in her extendable satchel. He tossed her her slippers; she tugged them on automatically. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my _God,_ it's all happening _now_?"

"Shh." He glanced around, took her arm, and knocked on the wall at the head of her bed. A door formed. He tossed the blanket on the bed around her shoulders and pushed her lightly through. They were suddenly standing outside the castle gates, beyond the apparition wards.

"Hold tight," he ordered, and apparated out. Seconds later, they reformed in a dirty, narrow side street... He murmured a few words; an address, and the air seemed to shift and separate, revealing a squat, shabby house. He tapped the doorknob, and ushered her through to the great front room of 259 Bolingbroke Court. The fire crackled warmly and quietly, and the lights raised slightly as Neil flicked his wand.

"Where are we?" Jax asked, looking about curiously.

"London." He set her satchel on the sofa. "Ren and Charlie's house. You'll be fine here. The guest rooms are up the stairs to the right. Take your pick."

"So it all really is going down tonight?"

"I don't have all the details," he said. "None of them, really. But it sounds like it. Now, is there anything you want to tell me before I go?"

"Yeah. Watch your ankles. Dad's an unregistered black mamba, and fond of his camouflage potions."

"Good to know. What about the others?"

"I don't know much more, Headmaster. It's not... I mean, they're like branches, right, of the same business. Not very cooperative, really, if only because none of them like each other on the personal level."

"Do you know where they keep the kids?" he asked her directly.

She shook her head, then shifted from foot to foot.

"I don't..." She hesitated, then firmed her lips. "I don't think it was really about Luna Lovegood," she said. "They made like she was the target, and maybe she was,  but she wasn't the only one."

"Sorry?"

"I think that maybe they were after the Weasley girl too," she said. "All along."

 _"What?_ "

"I don't _know,"_ she said miserably. "All I know is that if there is something, it's got something to do with her mum. But she needs to... Wherever her people are in all this tonight, you need to get her somewhere safe. Her and all of the Weasley kids. Only they're your family too now, right?"

Neil Cartwright hunkered down in front of her. "Is there anyone," he said. "Anyone, Jax, that you can think of who could tell me more?'

"Maybe... Dumbledore?" she ventured, and at his odd look - "Not _Professor_ Dumbledore. Aberforth Dumbledore. Only... I was in his pub once, on a Hogsmeade weekend back in my fourth year, and Mrs. Weasley came in and was talking to him. In the back. I was passing back from the loo; I'd had to go and that was the closest building, and I saw her in his office: just her hair, and her voice. He said that he'd do his best but his brother wasn't her real problem, was he, so there was only so much he could do, 'specially since if he got hauled off there'd be no one left to keep an eye out and he wasn't willing to risk that. Nothing more specific, but I caught the word 'cabals' from her, right before I went, and really... I didn't want to hear anymore, so I ran off."

"Your fourth year. That was the year Fred and George started Hogwarts?"

She nodded, and sank down on the sofa, watching as he stepped into a hall. There was a soft crack, and the murmur of two voices, his and what could only be the house-elf's. After a moment, there was another crack, and he reappeared.

"The boys will be along soon," he told her. "Niamh Weasley, Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger - she's a target now too, as Ron's girlfriend - will be along as well, as soon as we contact all of their parents. There are plenty of rooms upstairs, just stay out of the master suite, and I'm telling you now from experience, it's worth more than your life to poke around Ren's lab. Oh, and for Salazar's sake, don't mention that bit about Mrs. Weasley to her kids? As far they know they're all coming here for safekeeping because there've been a few noises made on Ren's in-laws now that he's married to Charlie, and he has to sort a few things, or rather people, out over the next couple of days before they feel comfortable sending them back to the dorms full time. He's sure they'd be fine, but that Horntail infusion on Charlie's part has been rendering him rather feral on the subject of the younger members of his family lately, especially with Bill laid up, and it's easier not to argue."

"And why am I here?"

"Officially? Because you're an extremely vulnerable patient of his right now, and since Terence Higgs pointed it out to the entire world the second day of his warding exams, everyone knows it. Unofficially? Because I'm a great big worrywart over the younger members of _my_ family,  and if this does go down as we're all praying it will, you're going to be an official member. Not just of Slytherin, but Cartwright."

"Erhm. What?"

"None of this," he said. "None of this, is your fault, Jax, and I'll be damned to hell before I let anyone blame you on any level, even if no one ever knows that you were Ren's source.  And I'm not just saying that because you are his source, either." She stared at him, mouth ajar. He offered her his crooked little grin and touched her nose. "You don't think I hop intercontinental portkeys and brave lethifold-infested waters to bring back Amazonian bell orchids for just anybody, do you? Alright, lethifolds don't eat bears, but still. It's the principle of the thing.'

"I don't...' She stared at him, at a total loss, and took an abrupt turn to the mental right in an effort to compose herself. "Why did you call in a favour that big for me? An intercontinental portkey on that short notice.... I mean... You didn't even know me. You hadn't even been at Hogwarts a week before you went!"

"I didn't call in a favour, Miss King," Neil said coolly. "I asked for one."

"What?" Her jaw hit the floor. " _What_?"

"I think you're worth it. Don't you?"

She just spluttered at him in indignation. He laughed.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "Pretty sure that Ren's paid all debts concerning for all times. Now go get your offended Slytherin sensibilities some nice warm milk and brace yourself for the incoming hordes."

She collected herself. "Headmaster," she said.

"Yeah?"

'If you can... Bring Dad in alive? I have a few things I want to say to him. That I've always wanted to say to him. "

"I'll do my best." He bowed, and was just turning to the fireplace, when...

"Dementors," she said abruptly.

"I'm sorry?"

"If you really do have a way to kill them, and have something like in stock, bring it along. All of it. McNair keeps a nest under his place."

"And how would you know this?"

"They have lots of different ways of ensuring family loyalty," Jax King said. 'For family members, starting when you turn fifteen, once you've done your OWLs and are officially let in on things. Pro-active ones. Once you're seventeen, either you join the family business... Or you don't. They've gotten rid of a lot of Muggles that way too, the ones who are curious at first and think they're inclined, but then find out they're really, really not.'

"When do you turn seventeen?"

"April." Her shoulders hunched. "I'm not that brave after all. Just self-interested."

"You could have run," he pointed out.

"No," she said. 'No. I really, really couldn't have. Only they would have found me, you know? They wouldn't have even had to go looking. I would have come back, once they started taking my friends to make the point.  I just... Didn't know what else to do."

"Ah."

"You can do my stepmother," she offered. "She's just a _lovely_ bint, she is. Pretty sure she was the one who came up with the idea of the Dementors in the first place; they're her type of toy. She just didn't want them on her turf because she's next thing to a Squib and can't cast a proper Lumos, much less a Patronus."

"A...  Don't take this the wrong way, but why would someone like your father marry a Squib?"

"It's a business arrangement. She was married to another bloke - Amycus Carrow - right after the war. He and his sister were Death Eaters, and she told them that that her family connections could keep them out of Azkaban. They didn't. They both died, or rather were Kissed, less than a month later; one of the guards in their wing got out of control, they said, and she petitioned the courts to have them put out of their misery. Nobody argued, what was the point, and she got all the family money, including controlling interest in the Wrexham Wyverns. She moved to Wales right after that and  Dad came to her and proposed an alliance for mutual control of the cabal network, and she agreed."

"At least we don't have to worry about her being an Animagus."

"Oh well. That doesn't mean that you can't tell what she'd be. You'll pick up on it as soon as you lay eyes on her, she looks like a great fat toad topped with pink hair ribbons."

"Charmi..." Neil paused. "What's her first name again?"

"Dorrie."

"As in Dolores?'

"Yeah 'S the only thing we ever had in common, we both hate our names. Doesn't stop her, mind you, it's all "Jay-SEEEEEEE-Uh!" every time I'm home. I'd call her Mother Dolores, but I'd sick up on it. I have enough trouble not sicking up on her, without self-aggravating."

"Maiden name?"

"Um.. Enbridge? Onbridge? Overbridge? Something to do with bridges anyway. Only it makes sense, since with her face  her toad's got to be at least half troll."

Neville Longbottom pressed his fingers to his nose.

"Works better if you squeeze them together," the girl observed. "When you're around her anyway. That way you can't smell the simpering bullshit she spews from every pore."

"I will keep it in mind," the Headmaster said, and dropped his hand. "Alright. I really do have to go. Fridge is that way, help yourself."

"Do you have any idea how long it'll take?"

"No. I'm afraid I don't. I'll keep you posted as I can, though."

She nodded. "Wait," she said suddenly, and dug into her satchel. He examined her offering.

"Chocolate," she explained of the striped white and marmalade frog. "Dementors. You never know."

Neil kissed her head, and helping himself to the floo powder on the hearth, stepped through. Back at Hogwarts, he cut through a wall to his brand new potions lab and unlocked a cabinet, removing several dozen small bottles of bright pink liquid and slipping them into a not-briefcase along with a variety of other assorted goodies... He started to lock the cabinet again, then shrugged and opened it again, depositing the contents wholesale, if tidily in the case. One never knew, after all, and it was far, far easier to Get The Thing Done when One Was Prepared for All Eventualities.

When he was finished, he locked the cupboard, tapped the wall again, and emerged in his office. His mouth twisted a bit thoughtfully as he removed the object hanging on the wall and hefted it in his hand.

_Doesn't really go with the jumper now, does it?_

_Still. You never know when it might come in handy._

In the end, he just slung the item over his shoulder (it came with a nice carrying case of its own in this universe) and made his way to the fourth floor and the dark and deserted NEWT DADA lab.  Precisely seven minutes later, a green biro sparkled into being in the canister of extra quills on the corner of the teacher's desk. Neil Cartwright straightened his jumper, hefted his satchel over one broad shoulder and the sheathed Sword of Gryffindor over the other, and removed the biro from the canister. At minute eight, to the second, he clicked the button on the end and spun away.


	15. Wednesday Evening (2): The Uncertain Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please mind the dates in each section carefully! The second section (in case it's not clear) is an interlude from CanonWorld as seen through everyone's memory-link.
> 
> The dark, bolded quotes that Narcissa hears in the remembered voice of Canon!Lucius (in the first garden room scene) are drawn directly from J.K Rowling's books.
> 
> VOCAB: 
> 
> reinha minha- my queen
> 
>  
> 
> CHARACTERS AND CLARIFICATIONS FOR SECTION TWO
> 
> Cissy = CanonNarcissa - b. Sept 1, 1954, started Hogwarts in 1966  
> Lucius = CanonLucius - started Hogwarts in 1965  
> 'Tonio = CanonAntonio - became a spell-crafter. Animagus: panther  
> Miguel (Mig) = CanonRamone:speed-racer, Animagus: howler monkey
> 
> Niss = Ren'sWorldNarcissa - b. August 31, 1954,started Hogwarts in 1965: Animagus - lioness  
> Luke = Ren'sWorldLucius - started Hogwarts in 1965, Animagus - spider  
> Antonio = Ren'sWorldAntonio - became a priest. Animagus: phoenix.  
> Ramone = TheOneAndOnlyRamone - Animagus: poison-dart frog.
> 
> Ren'sWorldInez went to Hogwarts on her ISEP year. Became a teacher. Animagus: Giant Anaconda  
> CanonInez did not go to Hogwarts. Became a shopkeeper. Animagus: Giant Anaconda.  
> CanonInez never met Tom Riddle. Ren'sWorldInez did.  
> CanonLucius Malfoy never went on an ISEP year.  
> Cissy (CanonNarcissa) went to Japan instead of Uadagou.
> 
> CanonWorld had a moderately concerning lethifold problem.  
> Ren'sWorld was about to suffer the lethapocalypse.

**_The Seminary of the Magicals of the Society of Jesus_ **

**_Sao Paulo, Brazil_ **

**_December 22, 1970_ **

_"As a dwelling placed under Fidelius," the old man said to Lucius, "we will construct a warded room in your mind. The framework that gives the floor, walls, and roof of that room its shape and structure will be comprised of warding spells. The individual tiles, stones and slates in the floor, walls and roof, all set within that framework, will be formed of individual memories. Once the room is complete, all of those memories, as part of that warded room, will become completely inaccessible to the external or intruding mind. You may assign new memories after the set wards are activated simply by willing it so. There is no limit there. The room will simply become bigger, and the wards will extend automatically to accommodate."_

_Across the room Antonio Silva sat on a chair, the beads on his rosary running through his fingers as soft, singing water. Lucius sat on the edge of the raised pallet, staring at the old man before him (Silva had introduced him as his bishop: one Jorge-Henrique Alvarez), mouth ungraciously ajar. The old man politely ignored the younger man's expression, and continued his lecture._

_"As Fidelius requires a Secret Keeper, the room will require a key. So, in the center of the room, you will place a single memory. This memory will serve as the anchor, holding the room and the wards that form the room into final place. You must choose this memory carefully. It must be one that you have never spoken on, as such, to another living soul. If you ever do choose to describe that memory to another - and it must be your choice, made of your own free will and without conscious or subconscious coercion - the remainder of the memories that you choose, and have chosen, to segregate from your accessible mind will no longer be protected from external perusal. They will not be lost, but the wards that we will cast now that do protect them from that external perusal will no longer hold, and all that was hidden will be revealed to all with the eyes to look."_

_"Must I choose the memory now?" Lucius said uncertainly, after he had digested that._

_"No," said the bishop. "But it must be done before you return to England. And it must be powerful. It need not be happy, but it must, as best you can estimate, be one that defines you. If it does not qualify, you will know, and you must choose another. Once it is in place though, only your own free, uncoerced will may expose it. And once you have revealed it, the wards will be dissolved in perpetuity. They cannot be re-erected, not without beginning this process all over again - and this process, young man, insofar as you are concerned, is very much a singular opportunity."_

_"Did you design them?" the young man asked. "These wards, I mean?"_

_"No_. _They were designed many centuries ago by one of my predecessors, at a time when many more of our kind  were called, or rather answered the call, to the formal religious life. Certain of those formal religious - the priests - served, as we do now, both Magicals and Non-Magicals in many ways, the most crucial of which was through their provision of God's sacraments. There are seven of those sacraments, but the one we are concerned with now is called Reconciliation. It offers penitents the opportunity to confide their sins directly to Jesus Christ, the Son of God, miraculously present in that most sacred moment in the physical person of the priest, in order to attain, through the mercy and grace of God, divine forgiveness and life eternal in His Presence as it was made possible through His self-sacrifice for us all on the Cross."_

 _"In the physical person of..." Lucius half-sat, enlightened. "_ In situ Christi!"

 _"Just so." The bishop smiled briefly. "So. At that time when the wards were invented... It was a time of great persecution for our kind, mm? Magical law enforcement officials had no qualms about raiding the memories of my brothers for those confidences shared only with God through his priests in order to determine and assign secular legal culpability to those that they hoped to discredit. They would extract the memories by force, in the name of the Greater Good, and would modify them, and on occasion even the prisoners themselves, to suit their agendas. Many people were afraid and stopped going to the priests to confess their sins, falling away from God in entirety out of fear, not that their trust_ would _not, but_ could _not, be kept. Under the circumstances, I am quite sure that God understood their reasoning and did not condemn them, but still. Their fear served the government in that the further they drove the population from God - from the rituals and sacraments that reinforced their faith in difficult times -the easier the population was to manipulate and control. So, this persecution  - the mental rape of priests - became deliberate in that manner as well, not only to resolve so-called crimes, but as a way of weakening the Church's influence as a whole, because the population felt that it was no longer safe even with Jesus. And fewer and fewer men became willing to risk the religious life, not only for their own safety's sake, but for the safety of those they were called to serve. It was, as my friend Antonio here says, a problem."_

_Lucius listened, propped on one elbow now, fascinated._

_"So our Order," the bishop continued. "The Magicals of the Society of Jesus... We came up with this solution. We are Warders after all, mm? Not all Warders are Magical Jesuits, but all Magical Jesuits are Warders. It is our core mandate: to defend those we serve however our beautiful Jesus requires it. In this instance... My predecessor modeled his solution after the tabernacle, a tiny cupboard or room of sorts where dwells the transubstantiated Body of Christ in every physical church, behind the altar. He created a mental tabernacle, a room within the mind, a sacred place where all confidences shared with Jesus were as inviolate as God Himself. He created it so that a priest's memories  of those confidences formed the walls of the warded room, none accessible to others without the deliberate and intentional  uncoerced exercise of will of the priest. It was a very good solution, and now all priests undergo the ritual as part of ordination."_

_"But I am not a priest!"_

_"You do not have to be a priest," the bishop said patiently. "It is simply a priestly tradition. We will set, as we always do, a contingency spell that will ensure that this entire conversation, and all thoughts related to it, will become part of the internal dwelling. No one will ever be able to detect what has been done to you, or even that it_ was _done. It is a most necessary precaution, as the government, as you may well imagine, would not approve."_

_"How can the people trust priests now, knowing the risks, if they do not know you are protected?"_

_"They know we are protected. They simply do not know how." That small smile touched the old man's lips again. "It is a matter of much frustrated speculation in the government again, as our ability to resist embodies proof and chronic reminder that they are not, after all, above all."_

_"Oh," Lucius said. "Alright then." He lay back at the bishop's nod. "But how do you know you may trust me with this?"_

_"You come on high recommendation, and there is a second contingency besides. Incentive, if you would. If you betray this trust of ours, all memory, and the memories you have incorporated into the walls, including all of those finer details of your time here in Brazil and the people you met here, will be lost. Toward that possible end we will store in your mind an evolving alternate history, as the government would do if they had their way, that will simply take hold should you choose to give over our secrets to the enemy. In that one moment of absolute decision... There will be no secrets to give. The man that you are becoming here will be lost." He paused, looking down into Lucius' wide eyes. "It is necessary. It is vital. It is a price that you have no choice but to agree to, for we cannot risk this, do you understand?_ We cannot risk the discovery of this ritual. _If we stop now, there is no risk, only the memory of this one conversation obliviated. If we continue... You must understand that should you ever choose to betray us, you_ will _lose all."_

_He watched the young man closely as he processed that, but in the end..._

_"So what will Riddle see, if the memories are locked away?"_

_"As each sequestered memory locks into place, the wards surrounding them, powered as they are by external and intruding magic, will set and reset themselves to reflect back at any intruder a variant on that new memory's original themes, acceptable to that intruder as harmless and innocuous fact, but never revealing the crucial, potentially damning content. Effectively... There will be two versions of every event that occurs to you in your mind: the real one, and the perceivable alternative."_

_Lucius eyes widened even further. "That is not possible. That cannot be possible! How..." His breath was gone._

_"All things are possible with God, my heart," his mentor said quietly from his stool. "Will you trust me when I tell you this, and take this leap of faith? For me?"_

_Lucius turned his head sideways and regarded those soft, dark and beloved eyes. Three months since they affirmed their private bond, and he was no longer even remotely embarrassed by his love for the man before him... Embarrassment, no more than the concept of Two, was no longer a concept in their mutual vocabulary. All between them simply... Was. Their mutual motivation to survive their respective wars came back to one truth and one truth only now: man and phoenix's mutual desire to be reunited as one after the inevitable separation._

_"Not for you," he said simply. "No, sir. Not_ for _you. But_ with _you? Always."_

_He held out his hand.  Antonio Silva pulled up his stool, and took it, and leaning in, kissed his forehead and his eyes._

_"My fine young Englishman," he teased softly. "Still so proud?"_

_"It is not a matter of pride," Lucius said. "It is a matter of arithmetic. If it were_ for _you, you would be before_ me _. Separated. Distinct. We are not separate. We are One. One in this battle. In all battles now, and in all things." His fine lips set. "Together... We shall be as an army." He flexed and slid off the table. The bishop watched as Silva rose to meet him, and as they embraced... When they separated, both of their faces were wet, and alight with shared determination. Lucius turned to face the bishop and dropped to his knees before him, completely without self-consciousness now as he bowed his head._

_"I accept your terms, sir," he said formally to the old man. "Unconditionally. I accept them, and will obey them as you obey your God."_

_"As He wills it, then._ " _The bishop took his hands, raising him to his feet. "Lie back then,_ por favor. _I must put these drops of potion in your eyes first, to keep them open. It will hurt more than a little, I warn you now, but you must not blink, if you can help it at all, before the pain ends. The eyes, they are the windows to the soul, they say, and we cannot see through closed windows."_

_Lucius set his jaw and obeyed. The drops felt most peculiar, but he did not blink, when, after ten seconds or so, they began to burn: warmly at first, but soon as if they were boiling in his head... He screamed, oh yes he screamed, but he did not blink. Cool fingers held his firmly as the fire faded, and open-eyed though he was, he began to fall toward sleep._

"In Nomine Domine," _he heard the two men's voices murmur._ "In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti..."

_And the shadows enveloped him, and his world was swallowed in darkness._

* * *

 

In another life in another world, in the universe where Harry Potter had been born and Ren Cartwright had never been permitted to live, Druella Rosier-Black was delivered of her third daughter, Narcissa 'Cissy' Black, at precisely half-past midnight on September 1st, 1954.

Several universes over, in the world that now served as Harry Potter/Ren Cartwright's home, Druella Rosier-Black (perhaps because she had had the hot sauce on her breakfast eggs that her counterpart had not) was delivered of her third daughter, Narcissa 'Niss' Black, at precisely eleven minutes _before_ midnight on August 31st.

A few tablespoons of spiced sauce, a few particularly convulsive contractions, and the kaleidoscope shifted... Forty one minutes' difference, and in Harry Potter's homeworld - that world where the child in question had been born on September 1st rather than August 31 -  little Cissy Black began Hogwarts in 1966 rather than 1965. She never entered the Slytherin common room with her husband-to-be, one Lucius Malfoy, as her year-mate. He never seated her in the best chair in the common room and himself at her feet. He never provoked Bellatrix Black's early and overt disdain, and so did not spend the next five years caught up in a war that earned him the early and absolute attention of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. And the two lovers never applied to ISEP together, or Lucius at all, for that matter. Cissy did, and she spent a lovely year in Japan cultivating such socially and maternally approved hobbies as ritual tea ceremonies and the arrangement of cherry blossoms. She didn't find either terribly interesting, but did enjoy her discreet, torrid affair with her American room-mate, a fellow ISEP student named Rebecca Hanley, from Seattle, Washington. Lucius didn't mind, but then, Cissy hadn't expected him to. He proved particularly and specifically understanding when she invited Rebecca home for Christmas. The two of them liked each other exactly as much as Cissy had anticipated they would, and the three of them spent a quite enchanting and magical holiday together.

There were other differences, of course, that would make _all_ the difference in the two worlds' near-parallel histories.  In Cissy's world, Antonio-Maria Silva of Manaus, Brazil fell in love, as he did in Niss' world, with one Inez-Constanzia Gutierrez de Hernandez, but Inez, a Nomaji-born from Puerto Iguazu, Argentina, lacking the devastating incentive of losing her twin sister to the horrific plague of lethifolds that so plagued her counterpart's country and continent, never applied to ISEP in order to escape her grief. She never went to Hogwarts, never met Tom Riddle, never attracted his attention, and never agreed (mostly out of sheer irritation and the desire to hear him stop talking) to go with him to a certain room on the seventh floor of the castle, where he promised to show her a place of miracles that only he had discovered. She never entered the Room of Requirement, and was never (despite herself) reluctantly impressed... She never returned on her own that same evening to explore the great room he had shown her, full of a world's worth of curios and curiosities. And so she never realized, much to her astonishment, that there was much more to the room, or rather, Room, than Tom Riddle had ever imagined.

Most importantly, she never, once she realized that the Room gave you exactly what you wished for if you only had the wit to ask, dropped to her knees and prayed very precisely indeed for a sign that would indicate the advent (or not) of a very specific and much-needed global miracle, and never, after she was finished, recited the prayer to St. Michael the Archangel that every child in the South and Central America and Pacific Islands of Niss's world had learned in the womb.

Finally, she never rose from her knees and saw beside her a small table, and on it, a very small white and blue book. She never picked it up and opened it, or read the flyleaf and the inscription, affording not just a double, but a triple-take at the inked date. She never turned the page and realized that there was, in fact, no publisher listed, or publication date. She never spent the entire night reading the contents over and over till each word was not just committed, but burned into her memory, and she never set the book down and left the Room just as dawn was breaking over Black Lake, returning to Ravenclaw Tower to lie on her bed and to stare dry-eyed at the ceiling, wondering, for the first time, which was more truly painful in the end: loss or hope.

In  Cissy's world - in that universe where Harry Potter was born and Ren Cartwright had never been allowed to exist - Inez-Constanzia Gutierrez de Hernandez never, on her twenty second birthday, accepted her beloved 'Tonio's proposal, only to inform him the next week, as Antonio's Inez  had after _her_ lover's first and shocking, utterly impossible Animagical transformation, that she would not marry a man through whom God so obviously intended to work the literal saving of their world. She never held him in her arms as they both wept in desperate, frantic grief at what they must personally give up to gain all... She never took her lover's hand and apparated with him later that same day to the seminary of the Magical Jesuits in Sao Paulo,  Brazil, and kissed him one last time at the gate, and informed God that there had _best_ be that miracle coming from this sacrifice, or she _would_ have something to say to Him about it after the Long Night was over.

And she never walked away resolutely, with Antonio Silva's last remembered words ringing in her ears.

 _Prophecy or no prophecy,_ _all is yet in God's Hands. You may have been offered a glimpse of a possible future, Inezinha, but if that future is to come about, if it is truly His desire, it will come about whether we actively work toward it or not. If, in good time,_ His _time, He chooses to employ us more precisely toward the specific end, we will, of course, accommodate Him, but in the meantime... I do not think that He offered you this gift so that we could, in all pride and arrogance, arrange the future according to our preferred interpretation. He gave it to you, I think, so that we will yet have hope in the darkest years ahead. Should we thank Him by making them yet darker, by turning our backs on what we know is our duty to Him in the here and now? Because we_ do _have duties to Him in the here and now; that is more than obvious, and we must not enable each other,_ rainha minha, _if, in the end we must stand before Him and acknowledge that those of His children that He intended to be saved through our efforts might_ not _have been lost, if only we had trusted His ultimate wisdom a little more._

In Cissy's world, Inez never went to Hogwarts. She stayed at home, and by the time she and her 'Tonio graduated, they were engaged. They were married in the autumn of 1949 in the vast unplottable Magical cathedral that hovered over Argentina's Iguazu Falls, in a huge, joyous celebration attended by every one of 'Tonio's six brothers and sisters, his uncles, aunts, grandparents, and multitude of cousins, nieces and nephews. His best man was his youngest and best-beloved brother, Manuel.  Inez' maid of honour was her twin sister, Consuela.  Everyone agreed that it was a match ordained by God.

For just over three and a half years, the young couple lived a blissfully idyllic life in their adopted city of Rio de Janiero, in constant contact with both friends and relatives as 'Tonio began to establish his reputation as one of the most innovative and talented spell-crafters in the western hemisphere. Inez, in the meantime, opened a small shop of really quite beautiful hand-crafted artisan furniture. Her talents at carpentry were completely negligible, but her talents at Transfiguration more than made up for it, and by the time she informed the delighted 'Tonio a year to the day after their wedding that she was expecting their first child, the two had a nice little nest egg put away.

Then, in March of 1953, tragedy struck. 'Tonio's best-beloved brother, Manuel, having completed his training as a guide through the magical jungle, married a wonderful young doctor-in-training from Paraguay and departed on a medical research mission to the interior of North-Central Brazil. They left their two-month-old son, Miguel-Maria, in the care of his aunt and uncle.

They never returned. Inez and 'Tonio adopted little Miguel, of course, and raised him as one of their own eventual eight. When he was old enough to ask (and to be answered),  'Tonio, who did not believe in lying to children, took five-year-old Miguel for a walk, and explained that reports back had described an extremely unusual and tragic freak incident - the camp had been attacked by a pair of lethifolds, and his mother and father had been lost.

Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Hernandez de Silva sat on a bench outside the small, ramshackle church placed, for the convenience of its patrons, on the edge of the bustling market-place (it was, appropriately, called Sao Antonio de Padua, after the patron saint of all things lost), his thin dark legs swinging, and thought about that.

"Are there many lethifolds in the world, Papi?" he wanted to know.  Miguel did not call his uncle Tio, as did his counterpart, Ramone Carriera, several universes over. He was the only father he remembered, after all, if not, as Papi reminded him, the only one he'd ever had.

" _Nao_ ," 'Tonio said. "Not many at all, Miguelzinho. They are very rare."

"How many is rare, Papi?"

"I am not quite sure," 'Tonio confessed. "They are very hard to see, you see? It makes them very difficult to count."

"That means you do not know whether they are rare or not," Miguel pointed out.

"It is true," 'Tonio conceded. "I do not."

"I will find out," Miguel said confidently. "I will find out, Papi, when I am a man. I will find out, and then I will find them all, and I will kill them all, every one."

"That is a very good plan." 'Tonio  did not think it prudent to lie to children, but neither did he think it prudent to inform children that certain nightmares could never be defeated. "I pray that Jesus will help you accomplish it. We will go into this church right now, you see, and I will pray, and you may light a candle for your intentions. Your intentions are your wishes," he added at the  inquiring look. "Not wishes of your mind or even your heart, but of your soul."

"Three wishes, then." Miguel slid off the bench. "And three candles, Papi. One for my intentions" - he pronounced the word carefully - "and two for Mami Bonita and Papi Manuel, to light their way to heaven." He'd paused at that, uncertain. " _Are_ they in heaven, Papi? The lethifolds cannot stop them from getting there, can they?"

"Nothing and no one, Miguelzinho,' Tonio assured him, "can prevent that. It is why our beautiful Jesus came to us, _sim_ , to hold out His own Hands and show us the way? Their bodies are lost, and their lives, but only a man himself may separate his soul from the great God, and your Mami Bonita and Papi Manuel were His true friends from beginning to end to beginning again, I am sure. No, I _know_."

"We will light the candles anyway," Miguel decided. "So those who are not sure may see the way, and Jesus holding out His Hands to them. The jungle is very dark and dangerous, and they might be afraid and close their eyes, and so miss Him there."

"A little extra light never hurts," 'Tonio agreed, and took his hand. "Anywhere. You are a good boy, my Miguelzinho."

And that (in the moment anyway), was all there was to say about _that_.

*

Moment followed moment, as moments tended to, and year followed year, and in September of 1964, Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Hernandez de Silva enrolled in Castelobruxo School, where he embarked upon Stage One of his self-determined life's mission - that is, his appointment to Castelobruxo's senior speed-racing team. At the try-outs the first week, the tall, thin eleven-year-old arrived on the course carrying two things: a signed waiver from his adoptive parents and a brand new top-of-the-line racing broom purchased for him through donations from the entire extended Silva and Hernandez clans. The elder students, amused and indulgent, convinced the coaches to allow the little one his demonstration flight - and none of them, no matter how badly he outdid them all in the aftermath of that vote, was ever quite able to regret it. It was not every person after all, who could claim to have trained alongside, from his very beginnings, the greatest racer that would ever live.

By the end of his first week of formal practice, Miguel was out-flying, not just the students, but the teachers. By the end of his first year, he had broken every record ever set at Castelobruxo.  By the time he was thirteen, he was flying for Brazil. By the time he was fourteen, he was flying for South America.  By the time he graduated, the seventeen-year-old boy was world champion twice over, and had been acknowledged by the global experts as the best racer in the history of the sport, setting record after record all throughout the seventies that would never be matched at any point in his world's future. And he was known to all as Miguel Arcanjo, Michael the Archangel, because, as it was said, only God flew higher than the archangels, and no regular angel could possibly match Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Hernandez de Silva's skill, or his joy, in flight.

No one ever understood till later, and then only his family, that Miguel did not just fly for the joy of it. He flew for the money. Speed-racing was an extremely lucrative sport, and by the time he officially retired in January of 1980, on his twenty-seventh birthday, Miguel was quite obscenely well-off. In the decades that followed he spent every knut he had, and a great number more that he earned through returning as a celebrity to the circuit when his funds were running low, on researching lethifolds.

And he realized something in his studies of demographics and urban distribution, immigration and emigration, and records of births and deaths and disappearances, both present day and historical.

Just because you couldn't see something didn't mean that it wasn't there.

In 1958 though, none of that had yet occurred. All was the future, unwritten. In 1958, 'Tonio Silva hugged his adopted son, and they went into the church and lit their three candles... When they emerged, 'Tonio crouched a little and blurred. Miguel clambered up onto his back, and they padded away through the streets of Rio de Janeiro (Notice-Me-Nots intact; the Nomaji would undoubtedly have found the sight of a gigantic black panther eyeing up the bookshops rather alarming) to their apartment. It would be many years yet till, in the autumn of 2004, fifty-one-year-old Miguel, who by then knew very nearly everything there was on keeping oneself alive in the jungle, would travel to the International School of Warding in Paris  to teach Introduction to Adaptive Spell-Cast Warding as a one-term favour to a friend of his Papi's. It would be many years yet till he walked into the classroom and met, three rows back dead center, the tired, green-and-bespectacled eyes of one twenty-four-year-old Harry James Potter. Many years yet and one week later, till Harry Potter invited him home to meet his wife and newborn child, and confided in him that, though he was there on sabbatical from the Auror Department of Great Britain's Ministry of Magic, Auroring was only a socially designated front for his real passion... Many years yet, one week and perhaps three minutes later before Miguel-Maria Emmanuel Hernandez de Silva understood what exactly what was sitting in front of him, and much more importantly, from his personal perspective...

What was not.

Their meeting, he decided, as he examined the lightning bolt scar on his new student's forehead, had, like his adoptive parents' marriage, obviously been ordained by God.

"Tell me, _Senhor_ Potter," said the greatest speed-racer ever born of the most famous (and possibly most reluctant) Annihilator of Dark Magicals ever born. "What do you know of lethifolds?"

"Erhm," the young man before him said, startled. "Not a lot? Mostly just what's written in the books. Only it's a bit hard to know anything past that point, yeah, since they're effectively invisible?"

"One would think," Miguel agreed. "So here is a little examination question for you, heh? Tell me the best way to study, in the broader context, that which the eye cannot see, _Senhor_ Potter - that which leaves nothing behind to show that it, or that which it took with it, was ever there in the first place."

Harry Potter sat back in his chair and looked him over. Tall and lanky  with bony agile features, deep and weathered mahogany skin, unruly dark hair shot through with white at the temples...  His dark brown eyes were tranquil, calm and patient, not as a contemplative, the young Auror sensed immediately, but as a trained and meticulous hunter waiting for the optimal moment to bring down his prey. No, he corrected himself. To bring down the _world_ on his prey.

"You study not that which the eye doesn't see... But that which the eye no longer sees," he said finally. "The patterns and trends relating to the active loss and ongoing absence of what you know for a fact, once did exist.  In the context of lethifolds, then -  those people who were, and are no longer, there."

" _Muito bueno_!" Miguel looked quite inordinately pleased. "You are very good!"

"Yeah, yeah." Harry Potter waved that off. "Tell me more."

And Miguel obliged. His new student leaned forward, listening intently, face concentrated and frowning. When Miguel stopped for breath...

"Gin?" Harry Potter called.

"Yeah?" his wife called from the kitchen, where she was browsing the freezer for ice cream.

"D'you mind if Professor Silva and I go for a walk? Only, you know. Shop talk. Your eyes'll be glazing over before you know it."

"Knock yourself out. We're out of raspberry chocolate squeeze anyway. Pick me up some, will you, and you might want to put up your glamours, both of you, or you'll never get any peace."

"It is a problem," Miguel conceded as they rose. "Please, _Senhor_ Potter. You must call me Mig, as my family does."

"Harry." Harry took his offered hand. They shook firmly - and the young (not-really-an) Auror nearly jumped out off his shoes when his teacher abruptly transformed, and he was left holding his polite paw. The howler monkey chittered in mirth at his expression, but before he could turn back, the young man had turned his palm over.

"Huh." He examined the white mark on the brown, leathery palm, and, as 'Tonio Silva had, the first day he'd seen it when Miguel had first transformed at sixteen, said immediately...  "If  that doesn't mark you as a born Warder, I don't know what does."

"What are you thinking, Papi?" Miguel had asked as 'Tonio had sat down, there in his lab, obviously troubled. "It is only a little lightning bolt; a sign of my speed, perhaps, nothing more."

"It is not a lightning bolt, Miguelzinho. It is _eihwaz,_ the rune for defense. Jesus has obviously marked you  in response to your soul's intentions, according to the prayer you made as a child. Your lost father's form, and you now called by all Miguel Arcanjo, after our Defender in battle... I cannot say that I do not find this all greatly disturbing."

"What do you think it means?"

"I do not know, truly, but I think it a sign of His will, at the very least, that you are to continue along the path to which you dedicated yourself. And perhaps as, too, you lit those candles to guide the souls of the lost to Heaven that day... It is His will that you keep your eyes open for others, _sim_ , that together with you will be the candles that will light all of our ways?"

"But how will I know these others when I see them?"

"You will know," 'Tonio Silva said with certainty. "Such direct and unsubtle portents from our great God are rarely singular, and almost always a warning of a great shadow falling.  And while one flame of a single candle  may act only as a spark in the night, where many are drawn together by God's Hand, there _will_ roar a mighty fire against the darkness." He touched his beloved brother's son's cheek. "The world has taken note of you, Miguelzinho. Perhaps that too is God's will - that as it is keeping that eye on you, as  high as you do, and will, fly... It cannot help but keep its eyes fixed on heaven too, from where must come all of our  salvation in whatever battle is surely coming?"

"My friend Hermione mistranslated it on her Runes OWL," the young man with the lightning bolt (or perhaps the over-tilted, misdirected rune) on his forehead was saying. Miguel jerked his attention back to the present.  " _Eihwaz_ , I mean. Well, no. She mistranslated _ehwaz_. Put in 'defense' for 'partnership'. Funny the things that come back to you in the weird moment, innit?"

"Mm." Miguel blurred back. "Is she determined to become a Warder too, this friend of yours?"

Harry Potter snorted with laughter. "No," he said. "If God exists, He's got her down for Minister of Magic. And when it happens... The world, never mind Great Britain, will never be the same."

"It is not such a crucial error as all that," Mig mused judiciously as they headed out and down the fire-escape of the high, whimsically shaped and white-washed attic apartment to the cobbled street below. " _Eihwaz, ehwaz_ \- defense, partnership... They do complement each other, would you not say?" He crossed his eyes as a fedora suddenly sparkled into being over his head. "What is this?"

"The beginning of a beautiful friendship," Harry Potter said as he cast glamours on both of them with a pair of brisk, practiced wands. "Only we _are_ in Paris, yeah?"

"A place for all good beginnings," the older man agreed. "Where we too, always, will have had ours. Shall we walk, or would you prefer to fly?"

"Depends. Where are we going? Aside from to the corner to pick up raspberry chocolate squeeze, that is?"

"Up. As we are both strangers in this strange land, heh, it is the only direction we can be certain of."

"Works for me. _Accio_ Firebolt!" A shining broom zipped obediently down. Mig hefted his own rather-more-than-equivalent from where it was leaning against the side of the building.

"Now," he said. "Now we shall have a little fun, heh? Shall we race to the Eiffel Tower, or down the length of the Seine and back?"

And that, as one Ramone Carriera was wont to say (for the moment, anyway, though definitely, _definitely_ not over the next seventy-plus years to follow) was all that there was to be said about _that_.

* * *

**_Malfoy Manor_ **

**_The Conference Chambers_ **

**_Wednesday, November 26th, 1991_ **

**_11.30 P.M._ **

The great conference room at Malfoy Manor was swarming. Four stations were set around the perimeter, each with long tables surrounded by chairs. An eye-poppingly tall and muscular African woman in tight black spandex leggings, neon orange sports bra and a low-slung chain belt leaned on her elbow against the central podium, nibbling on a cinnamon-oat biscuit and paying no attention to the disconcerted and murmuring hordes milling about her.

Across the room, a subdued and silent Narcissa Malfoy consulted her notes and charmed pertinent details onto the rotating and hovering models of each of the incoming army's four targeted destinations. She used no wand,  the tall woman noted, though she was wearing a wand holster strapped to her slim right thigh. The holster was silky white leather, and the wand handle emerging was formed of spiraled aspen and silver-shell, beautifully inlaid with tiny freshwater pearls. Nissie, as Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs had called her since their first unforgettable meeting at Uagadou in 1970, might never actually use the thing, but it did make a lovely accessory, particularly in contrast to her most unaccustomed dark green leather trousers.

Obonyo-Higgs -  easily six foot eight in her bare feet (and they were bare just at that moment, displaying toe-nails painted delicately in a pattern of orange and black tiger stripes) and  three hundred pounds' worth of aggressive and uncompromising muscle, pushed herself up and made her way over to Narcissa. The crowds parted before her like the Red Sea, retreating prudently in her wake.

"You know," that taller woman mused to her hostess. "I'd almost forgotten you have legs? Or did they just recently come in again in anticipation of the incoming and outgoing?'

Narcissa ignored her. Her former student advisor lowered her biscuit and cast a wandless _Muffliato_. The world's most popular pick for Global Grandmaster in Combat Dueling wasn't actually particularly adept at wandless magic, but she'd learned that particular spell early on. Her infamous wand, after all, wasn't inclined to the finer social niceties.

"Did it go that badly?" she said directly. "Because I have to say that you don't exactly have the expression of a self-satisfied society hostess."

"Mind your own business, Namirembe."

"Rude," Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs observed, completely unoffended. "Does that mean it went well?"

"It means that you should mind your own business, and that I have nothing more to say on the matter."

"Touchy, touchy." Namirembe nibbled again at her biscuit, then pulled out a chair, straddling it and sitting backwards as she watched her former student continue to cast. "These are really good. You can tell your house-elves to make them again. So? Was there?"

"The house-elves didn't make them; I did, and was there... What?"

"Touchy-touchy."

"Oh for..." Narcissa did turn around at that. Her expression was not so much exasperated or irritated as pale and fatigued beyond tolerance. The circles under her eyes and the expert layers of cosmetics were almost as dark as her former advisor's complexion. " _Seriously_?"

"I'm only putting it out there," the other woman pointed out. "Everyone here is wondering, never mind staring at your arse in those trousers. Politics aside, are you sure you want to risk losing it? It really has held up well over the years."

"Your concern for the welfare of our nation's children is astounding, Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs. Have you decided where you want to go yet? I assume you've got no interest in McNair's territory, since you've got nundus down."

Namirembe's wand, currently strapped and chained into its magically reinforced holster at its owner's hip, snarled at her. It was a low, ugly sound that reverberated even through the _Muffliato,_ earning its owner more than one truly frightened look from those standing and sitting about... The incoming human tide ebbed once more.  "Shut it, bitch," the two women said to it in tandem. Narcissa's lips quirked as she caught her mentor's eye.

"I'll take Wrexham. Men are one thing, but any woman who'd stoop as low as Carrow's gone has earned both the privilege of a personal interview and my autograph on her death certificate. Do I need to flatten any cowlicks for you?" Namirembe inquired. "Before the scheduled date, I mean?"

"No," Narcissa said. "It's not..."

She paused.

"It's not..." her mentor prompted.

"It didn't go badly," she said, not looking at her. "Exactly. I don't think, anyway."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"I have no idea," the younger woman said. "At all. He's just...  Not what we expected. Neither of them are." _That_ , she thought, was quite possibly the understatement of the past ten millennia.

"In a good or bad way?"

"I don't know that either. But whatever way it is... It _is_."

Namirembe pulled back and looked at her at that.

"Don't tell me," she said, her voice lowering even further. "That you all shook on it already?"

"I don't _know_!"

"How can you not know? There are only three possible options there, Nissie. Either they said 'Yes, we're in',  'We're in for a second date,' or 'We're honoured, but no.'"

Narcissa Black Malfoy breathed slowly and pressed her fingers to her eyes, not in irritation or anger, but as if fending off a vicious headache. Namirembe waited, baring her teeth against sidling would-be-eavesdroppers. She was quite aware that most of them, as Aurors, were sidling on order, but that, from her point of view, only made dissuading them all the more entertaining.

"It's complicated," Narcissa said finally. "Really... _Really_ complicated. Can't we just leave it at that?"

"No. We can't. Don't they understand what's at stake here?" the taller woman demanded. "Is that it? I mean, alright, Freckles McHorntail is only nineteen and might need things explained to him a bit, but Commander Cowlick has those three IMs in all of those fields that should pretty much defy worldly naivete when it comes right down to it!"

"Oh, they understand what's at stake. More than anyone else on the planet, I would say."

"So what's the problem?"

"I didn't say there _was_ a problem! I just said it was _complicated_!"

"Did you find out where he's from, after all?" Namirembe asked, eyes narrowed to slits. "And where he got his training?"

"Yes," Narcissa Black Malfoy said wearily. "Yes. As a matter of fact... I did."

* * *

 

 

**_The Malfoys' Garden Room_ **

**_Earlier That Afternoon_ **

_Slowly, gradually, after a stilled and burning eternity -  seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries - they all regained consciousness. Ren struggled up first, stiffly, his face red and swollen with tears. The other three, still reeling, tried desperately to focus as he stumbled, swiping his eyes with the back of a hand, away from them and toward the door. He didn't leave the room though, just stood, back to them, shoulders hunched under his soft white t-shirt and arms twined around himself._

_Narcissa watched, dizzy to the point of nausea yet as Charlie pushed himself up from where he had fallen and went to his husband, bouncing back hard as physical wards slammed up between them. Ren sank to the floor, back yet to them all, face in his arms over his knees as he shook. He looked unbearably small. Charlie's face twisted in agony._

_"Mate,"  he whispered.  "Mate, please. Don't... Don't do this, don't..."_

_Ren didn't move, apart from the all-body tremble. He looked braced for a blow. He_ was _braced for a blow. His arms came up over his head, and he began to rock slightly._

_'Sorry," he whispered. "Sorry sorry sorry sorry sor..."_

_"_ Stop _." Narcissa's voice was bloody and choked. "_ Stop."

_He stopped immediately. Charlie sank down to the floor again, cross-legged just out of the range of the wards: not quite behind him, not quite beside him. The gold in his hair looked tarnished and dull, his freckles scattered as pinpricks of dark blood welling from under his parchment-pale, greyed skin. Even from where he was sitting, Narcissa could see his hands shaking violently. Her vision shifted abruptly... In her memory, the round cheeks thinned to skeletal, the brown eyes grew white and milky - the only pain potions that helped even a little at his end had almost completely blinded him - and the cheerful riot of ginger and gold hair thinned and fell away... Her hands came up to cover her face as she shook her head in frantic negation, and she blinked hard, and hard again. When her eyes refocused, she very nearly wept in relief at the sight of the renewed round cheeks, the thick shining curls and, however trembling and shaking now with the shock and echo of unimaginable remembered pain, the strong, healthy body._

_"You died of cancer," she said him, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. "Five full_ years _after being diagnosed?" She could not even begin to wrap her mind around it. The longest-lived patient on record - the mother of one seven-year-old Theodore Nott, as a matter of fact - had been released from her tortured agony sixteen months and one day after conclusive diagnosis. The healers had been in awe of her courage and determination, mustered only because of her only child's desperate wish that she make it to celebrate one last of his birthdays. The healers had helped her pass the morning after... She'd held off the last few hours again and only so that the child and his father would never associate the natal date with her death. She and Narcissa had never been terribly close, but little Theodore was Draco's age almost to the week, and she never once celebrated her own son's birthday without thinking of his now room-mate in Slytherin._

_"Yes." Charlie did not take his eyes from his husband._

_"And you came back to awareness here, to the realization that it you'd just been diagnosed again?"_

_He glanced over his shoulder at that. His face was no less grey than it had been, his hands no less tremored, but..._

_"Don't take this the wrong way, love, but let's mind our priorities, yeah? Your own man's looking more than a bit rough there." He nodded minimally at Lucius, sitting statue-still on the edge of the sofa and staring at the ground: blank-eyed and bare-chested, with both of his pale, unmarked forearms loosely across his knees. Narcissa collected herself instantaneously, her mind refocusing sharply and automatically. She slipped  off the sofa onto her knees and took her husband's hands in her own._

_"Luke," she said. "What are you thinking, my lovely? Tell me."_

_Lucius said nothing. Narcissa slipped down further, the moment of sharp clarity gone as if it had never occurred, and buried her face in his lap to hide her own desolate tears. He stroked her hair automatically. It seemed to focus_ him _slightly; he lifted his second hand and placed it gently, carefully, on her head, threading gold strands through his fingers. A small choked sound escaped him, and another and another... Narcissa looked up, bemused._

 _"What... Are you..._ Laughing _?"_

 _"Your mother was right to worry." His deep voice was raspy and scarred. "When she let you go to Africa. Salazar's_ socks _. All those bloody lions wandering the savannah; they turned you into one of them after all."_

 _"_ That's _what you're thinking on right now?" The bemusement turned to outright... Something._

_"It would seem so. Show me." He gathered himself visibly._

_"_ Now? _"_

_"Yes."_

_Narcissa sighed, and blurred. It was really quite astonishing, Lucius Malfoy observed, ignoring the two men across the room out of sheer self-preservation as he sat back and surveyed his wife over from nose-tip to literal tail, how well the Look translated in leonine._

_"It has been nineteen years," her husband said to her as she blurred back. "And you are just telling me_ now _?"_

 _"I was_ embarrassed, _alright?" she said crossly. "I thought I was going to be a cat!"_

 _"Lions_ are _cats."_

 _"Not like... I meant like Professor McGonagall! I took the quizzes and everything: the personality tests, and the temperament tests, and..." She caught his lips twitching as he looked down at her, and thwacked him. Hard. "Stop it. No,_ shut _it."_

 _"You are beautiful," he told her gravely. "No matter your form, and I feel quite protected now besides, with the female incarnation of Godric Gryffindor as a wife. I do plan to be there when you tell Andromeda and Sirius, mind you, and if you make me wait another nineteen years for_ that, _I shall be quite put out."_

_"Oh for..."_

_The twitch turned into a full grin. She thwacked him again; he caught her by the wrist and pulled her into his lap. She buried her head in his bare shoulder, and he pressed his lips to her hair, and they both laughed stupidly and helplessly, and he kissed her hard, and she kissed him back, and they recovered together. The silence resumed slowly._

_"_ Are _you alright, my love?" she said quietly._

_"I do not know yet, Narcissa." He  boosted her off his lap gently and reached for his shirt, pulling it on. She reached out, about to fasten his first button for him, then paused, tracing the runic design around his heart. It was bright and vivid yet, the exquisite daffodils shimmering so vibrantly they seemed to be moving, blown by some imperceptible - perhaps even other-worldly - breeze._

_"Did you not say the inks would sink in, Master-Adept?" Lucius said to Ren, using the title deliberately. The huddled, silent figure enclosed within the shimmering wards didn't move._

_"Dash,"  Charlie said quietly. "I know this prolly is a really bad time to ask you to get your Warder on, but you've got a patient here that you promised to look out for. He's got a couple of questions, yeah, on that purely professional level? Can you answer them for him, Dash? Can you do that for me? Sure you can. You're my good little mate; you can do that for me, can't you? Won't you?"_

_The silent figure moved slightly._

_'M' sorry, Charlie," Ren whispered. His voice was barely audible. "I shouldn't've lied to you, I..."_

_"You didn't_ lie," _his husband said immediately. His voice was strong and firm and absolute. "You just didn't tell me everything. You were never_ obliged _to, Dash. I told you last night, didn't I, that you didn't have to tell me anything, ever, about what happened when you were a kid? That if you did, it would be your choice, and then only when you were ready? As for Luke and Niss..." He used the names, as Lucius had the title, deliberately. "You met Luke exactly one week ago today, and Niss last Saturday. Even if you did feel obliged to reveal all in the interests of pro-active co-parental disclosure... Only it's not exactly a conversation for the first date, is it?"_

_Ren said nothing._

_"Can I sit beside you, little mate?" the wrangler said gently. Narcissa blinked back yet more tears at the utterly, utterly perfect tenderness there. "Put my arm around you, maybe? Would that be alright?"_

_Ren didn't say yes, but he didn't say no... Slowly, the wards faded out. The Malfoys watched, not moving as the shorter man slid over carefully, and put a sturdy arm around his husband. A slight, despairing hiccup sounded. Charlie turned and pulled the Warder into his arms proper, then half into his lap, rubbing his back and arms and legs with strong firm, reassuring movements. Sudden renewed images crashed and collided behind Narcissa's eyes again; time  and years and decades unraveled and re-knit, faces and names both familiar and not as past and present wrenched around and tangled... She pressed her face to Lucius' shoulder again, trying desperately to shut out, not the visuals, but the single associated voice._

**_(Mr. Potter. Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last...)_ **

**_(Red hair, vacant expressions, tatty second-hand book... You must be the Weasleys.)_ **

_**(** **The face I have been obliged to present since your... absence...that**_ **_is_** _**my true mask** **!** **)** _

**_(It's Longbottom, isn't it? Well, your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause...)_ **

**_(IF WE ARE THE ONES TO HAND POTTER TO THE DARK LORD, EVERYTHING WIll BE AS IT WAS, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?)_ **

_"Narcissa," Lucius said in alarm as the choked sob turned to violent, near hysterical laughter. "Narcissa, what..."_

_"If you're Luke," she said, struggling to control herself. Her voice trembled, shaken like the daffodils. "If you're Luke... Does that make...._ him _... Darth Malfoy?"_

_All three men, even Ren, turned physically to stare at her. She fell back and howled till she was limp. When finally she recovered..._

_"You're not mad?" The not-quite-not Harry Potter's voice was small and bewildered._

_"Course they're not_ mad, _mate," Charlie said in his best bracing tones. "Bloody shocked and confused, but I don't think any of us_ could _be mad at each other after all that. 'Walking a mile in each others' shoes' doesn't  even begin to cover it, yeah?' Though," he said judiciously. "We might all be a bit pissed with the bloody Horntails. That... Whatever the bloody hell it was... Was not_ on _." He  glared at the two palm-size tattoos, now both back on his body, and more precisely, curled and snoozing on the backs of his hands.  Karrash just opened one glinting eye and smirked at him... Mola's snore was both indelicate and patently false. "We're really sorry," he said to the Malfoys. "We had_ no _idea this would happen. At all."_

 _"We know," Narcissa reassured him. "We were there too. We're not angry, Ren, we promise." She paused, bemused, looking him over. "You're really a hundred thirty eight years old? From another... With children and grandchildren, and... You're_ Harry Potter?"

_Ren seemed to shrink back into himself a little at that. Charlie squeezed him tightly._

_"I..."_

_"Hold that thought if you would, Master-Adept." Lucius helped Narcissa stand, and as she seated herself beside him, took a deep breath, shook his hair back and settled his broad shoulders. Retrieving his left-hand wand, he pointed it at the liquor cabinet in the corner. The door flew open and a fresh bottle of whiskey flew out, landing on the coffee table before him and Narcissa. Tumblers chimed, ice clinked, and two of the four drinks rose, hovering before the other two men. Charlie grabbed the first and knocked back a full third in one go.The not-quite-not Harry Potter shuddered violently and convulsively, gasping hard as he followed suit. Thus fortified..._

_"Yes," he said. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Though for the record... It wasn't supposed to be like this." It was more than a little plaintive. "I was_ supposed to _be a_ walk-on! _And Charlie wasn't part of the original plan at all, at least not from my end of things!"_

 _"I am only thirty seven," Lucius Malfoy said, exquisitely dryly. "And even I know better than to try_ that _one on. So the lethifolds were not part of the plan either?"_

 _"Erhm," Ren said. "No. Not... I mean... Not..._ Our _plan. All things considered, I'm no longer willing to say definitively that it couldn't have been - wasn't - part of Someone Else's."_

_"Mm. I cannot speak for your version of Antonio Silva, but mine would have called that blatant after-the-fact rationalization of truly award-winning arrogance and pride."_

_"Really, Luke?" Narcissa shot him an exasperated glare. "You're actually,_ actually _going there?"_

_"No, no," Ren reassured her. "It's a perfectly reasonable descriptor. Argument. Whatever. One that came up in conversation on the subject more than once, I promise you, from many and varied and equally reasonable sources."_

_"And yet..."_

_"We saved your world with it?" he offered. "Literally? Even if it wasn't intentional?"_

_"There is that," the taller man agreed. "Yes, there is that. And while that does render me uninclined to judge on any personal level, I still feel obliged to point the flaws and fallacies in the ostensibly rhetorical argument on behalf-of." He set down the glass. "Though as we got each others' Reader's Digest Condensed Version, not the play-by-play - tell me something, Master-Adept. How much of the fence - the original design of the fence that won you your Grandmastery - was actually your doing?"_

"LUKE!"

_"Officially or unofficially?"_

_"Indulge me."_

_"Unofficially... Mig and I worked up the initial projected design together early on, decades before his niece Carlotta was elected Supreme Mugwump and forced the issue to the table - and I worked up all of the active bio-runic elements that brought the design up from the theoretical to the viable after he finally found the spawning grounds. Officially... I asked that my name be kept out of it on everything but the supportive level. I didn't need the adulation; I just wanted to get the thing done. For him."_

_"In other words..."_

_"All of it," Ren admitted. "All of the bits that actually made it work, anyway, on the purely practical level. There were other people involved in the crafting and adaptations of the necessary spells,  but none of those would have done any good without the fence itself to work with. The bio-runes were always going to be the crucial element, and those were all mine, like I said. And. Erhm. The ideas for the specific spells involved were mine too, and. Erhm. The bit about using a spell for its side-effect, not the main event, and the dead lethifold we worked from; that was a bit of a family heirloom; you caught that, I'm sure, but..." He looked more than a bit embarrassed._

_"Didn't you tell me just last night you didn't remember who came up with the original idea of the side-effect spell?" Charlie inquired, amused. "I could have sworn I heard you say that."_

_"Yes, well. It sounded better than 'the whole bloody thing was pretty much down to me' didn't it?"_

_"I reckon I could have managed the revelation, mate. It's always been down to you, after all. At least you got to enjoy it that time, yeah?"_

_"Not quite the word I'd use, but... Yeah. It was very satisfying. On both the personal and professional levels."_

_"Were you in love with him?" Lucius asked directly._

_"Who,_ Mig?" _Ren said blankly. "No, no. He was more of an uncle to me than anything else; he was twenty seven years older than me, and between that and the fact that he was my teacher first, my first teacher in Wards on the official level... My kids called him Tio Mig. After he finished the term, he went back to Brazil, but we kept in touch, and he'd come back to visit regularly. He was Lily's godfather, in fact. And after Charlie died..."_

_He shifted._

_"Gin called him," he said. "I was pretty... I mean... I don't know what you all got on that bit, but, I was drinking too much, on the verge of losing my job... Non-functional, really. And the kids were so young. James was only eight, and Al was six, and Lily was four, and I just... I was non-functional. I made a couple of really stupid mistakes at work. Nothing that threatened anyone but myself, but that alone was enough to drive home the realization for her that I honestly didn't -_ couldn't _\- care if I came home anymore. So she called him, Mig, I mean, and he came to get me, and took me back to Brazil with him for a few weeks. Bill - my Bill - came too. We all went to the jungle; they dried me out and got me back on a broom, and by the time they were done, I had the basis for my IM in DADA and was flying on a level that I'd never bloody flown in my life. I went back and the Ministry put me on Dark Creatures Control for awhile. That was fun. Probably the most fun I ever had working as an Auror because it didn't involve people. It didn't last, though, and that was when..."_

_He paused._

_"He started me working on the Animagus transformation when I was down there," he said. "Fed me the necessary starter potions, and after Bill left, I stayed another month so that I could do the step with the Mandrake leaf. I couldn't have done it at home; a certain percentage of people, me included, drool like anything with it, and people would have known what was up. He told me it was best to keep it to myself, for myself, anyway. The world thought it had me; he said it shouldn't get my soul too, not without my permission, anyway."_

_"So no one here  - there - in Europe knew you were an Animagus?" Narcissa asked._

_"A few did, sure. I told Gin I was working on it, and my entire generation of the Weasleys once I'd got it.  My kids too, once they were old enough to understand that they had to keep their mouths shut. Oh, and Neville of course. I didn't tell Hermione till after she retired. She didn't talk to me for a month she was so annoyed, but I said that if I'd told her when she was Minister of Magic, she would have felt obliged to use the information to help the world. And I didn't want to use it to help the world. I mean, I did, sometimes, but on my own terms. She threatened to tell on me anyway, but then Gin got to her, and said... I don't know what, but it shut her up. She had a temper on her, but she didn't actually lose it very often. When she did though..." He grinned in reminiscence. Charlie smiled and pulled him in._

_"You made absolutely adorable kids," he told him. "And grandkids, and great-grandkids. Never mind Scorpius. Christ, are you sure the Horntails weren't taking the piss with him there?"_

_Ren actually laughed at that._

_"No," he said. "No. He was like the Anti-Malfoy. The only thing he got were the family looks, the Blacks' passion for history and the traditional Malfoy knack for potions. Other than that, he was the biggest, sweetest, goofiest nerd ever born. And_ funny? _Kid could have made a living as a stand-up comedian. It drove his grandparents crazy, and amused the shit out of Draco because it_ did _drive them crazy. He didn't even bother with passive-aggression past the point, he'd just invite them for dinner when they were being particularly patrician and snobbish and let Scorp have his head. His OWL year they started in on Draco getting married again and just wouldn't let up, so Scorpius distracted them by claiming for six months that he was going to quit after his exams and join the Muggle circus. He didn't just get them going with it either; he had every portrait in the Manor quivering with fear. You should have heard Nev go on, telling him that he thought it was a brilliant idea, and after he was grown and the two made their Animagi transformations, the jokes on Neville the dancing bear and Draco as the rabbit pulled out of the magic hat were pretty damned epic."_

_"You don't sound like you hated him," Charlie observed. "At all."_

_"I didn't. We just annoyed each other. A lot. Habitually, even. It was part of the ongoing mandated legend, right, Harry and Draco's rivalry. We'd have the occasional semi-nice, private moment - he was one of the only people I've ever met, anywhere, that I could just sit and drink a beer and not say anything with, and not just because we had nothing to say to each other -  but on the whole... He was trapped by his family reputation as much as I was, at least in public. Heroes and villains, and the Malfoys were never out there anyway, so him being quiet with his purported lingering villainy worked right with the public assumptions. And of course, Al and Scorp had to be sleeping together, because a Potter and a Malfoy would never be real friends, right? Not in any world."_

_He closed his mouth abruptly, and looked down at the floor at that, at his own words... Lucius regarded him a long, long moment._

_"Your time with the Dursleys..." he said quietly._

_"I don't want to talk about it," he said immediately, harshly._

_"Dash..."_

_"No._ No _._ _You've all seen it, you all... I don't want to_ talk _about it. You've seen it, that's enough, and what you didn't see, you don't get to. None of you._ _I don't care if... I don't want to_ talk _about it_!" _His voice rose higher and higher in its increasing agitation, not in volume, but in pitch... Narcissa had to force her hands down to prevent them from covering her eyes again, against the the juxtaposed vision of black hair and green eyes and_

**_(It'snotreallyhumanDiddikinsdon'teverevertouchItwithyourbarehandsorIt'llmakeyousick)_ **

**_(freakonlymumsaysharrysnotevenyournnamejustwhatyou'recalledbecausepeopleexpectityou'rejustadiseasethatlookslikeahuman youdontevenhaveaname)_ **

**_(lookpetIpickedupnewbootsforItnononotforIttowearformetowearwhenIneedtomoveItIdon'twanttodirtyupmyhandsonItbeststeeltoedcourseIgotyoussomeDudderslook we'llmatchthat'smyboy)_**

**_(Iwasn'ttryingtohurtItitwasjustabitofbleachinthebathmumIt'sadiseaseandbleachcuresgermsrightitsaidonthetelly!)_ **

_"Alright, mate." Charlie kissed his forehead gently in the near-paralyzed silence that followed. "If that's what you want, that's how it'll be. Now, how about you have that look at Luke's arm for him?"_

_Ren heaved himself up and made his way over slowly, seating himself on the coffee table before Lucius, and avoiding his eyes assiduously... The taller man said nothing, just held out his right forearm. Ren examined it closely, then Summoned a wand to prod at it a bit. He slid forward to fold the taller man's shirt open, and offered a small frown, running a light, warm fingertip over the circle of runes inscribed among the daffodils._

_"What is it?" Lucius asked._

_"The Mark's gone," the Warder said. "You're clean." His voice was its normal mild, husky light baritone once more: blessedly adult and unstrained... Back in the focused moment, black turned brown; green followed suit, and next to her, Narcissa felt Lucius relax, a near-inaudible breath of desperate relief escaping him... His fingers loosened a bit in hers; she squeezed them firmly, and caught his eyes... His smile was small and edged; his eyes sending her the single message in the one, even smaller, telegraphed exchange._

**_Field trip to Privet Drive after all this is over, my heart?_ **

**_I'll pack the sandwiches personally, my lovely._ **

_"Well, that's good, innit?" Charlie said encouragingly. "No, that's great! Why the frown?"_

_"The Mark's gone. The fence, though..."_

_The Warder pulled up his t-shirt and looked down. A second circle of shimmering runes circled his own heart. Charlie gawped, then put his bottle aside and came to sit beside him, struggling with the multiple layers of his St. Roux._

_"Three for three," he said as he, too, looked down. "What does it mean?"_

_Ren said nothing, just reached out to Narcissa. She pulled back a moment, startled, but his fingers only brushed her face._

_"Master-Adept, what..."_

_He pulled his fingers away. A strand of pale gold and green trailed from the center of the tiny X on her cheek, wrapping around his fingers before fading to a small glowing dot in his palm. He gestured Charlie up, then stood himself, brushing one hand with the other.  As had happened with the Dark Mark, a proxy flared over the table: a small, mottled globe this time. Ren Summoned his second wand and began to dissect it swiftly, slicing it into four neat segments and unspooling the twisted and tangled contents within.  It didn't take long, and when he was finished, he Vanished the remnants and sat down heavily._

_"Here's a suggestion for you, Beauty," he said to Charlie._

_"Mm?"_

_"In the next edition of our lives," he said. "Raise gerbils."_

* * *

 

**_Malfoy Manor_ **

**_The Conference Chambers_ **

**_11.45 P.M_ **

"So," Namirembe persisted, keeping an eye on the crowds. The last of the portkeys had transported their incoming, and said incoming were now dividing themselves into teams, all circling around their relevant tables to examine maps and associated data. "Define 'complica...'" She blinked. "Why is Remus Lupin wearing Armani to battle?"

"It's an Occasion," Narcissa said dryly. "I imagine, in his mind, _the_ Occasion. And gentlemen always dress for the Occasion, do they not?"

"Uh huh. This is why I'm fighting for Kenya. If England were sponsoring me, they'd probably expect me to duel in an evening gown. And the sword?"

"The Headmaster brought it in. Lupin admired it, and he offered to lend it to him for the evening. Something about it matching his aura?"

"If you say so. Complications," Namirembe ordered. "Definitions and descriptions thereof."

"Ah. Right." Narcissa collected herself. "Do you know how the Opprobrium Curse works? Exactly? On the technical, magical level?"

"Can't say that I do, no."

"I can't conceive Luke's baby," Narcissa explained. "Because ever since the curse was cast, my magic views his magic as an extension of my own. We're married: one flesh, right, and our cores take that literally. Not... It's not literal, it's just how our cores perceive each other now when it comes to reproductive issues. And you can't exactly reproduce with yourself, can you?"

"That's rhetorical, right?"

"Yes. Well-spotted. Anyway. That's us. In Ren and Charlie's case, the Horntails - the ones in Ren's wands, that healed Charlie - take things literally too. When Luke and I were up on the dais proposing Solace, they took a good hard look at us, or rather our magic, and their magic saw us, thanks to the curse on me, not as two people but one - a female person who had already, given that literal perspective of absolutely everything again, successfully given birth to a live dragon."

"WHAT?"

"They don't get names. They don't _do_ names; Ren just gave them theirs for his own personal convenience. It's either Mate, Child, Other Dragon, or just plain Other. So when they were reviewing us, 'Draco' translated as 'dragon child'."

Namirembe's eyes widened.

"So they looked at us," Narcissa continued. "On the dais, or rather at our magic, and saw, as I said, one woman. And their magic looked at Charlie and Ren's magic and identified them as two people with one soul, but ones with those two inconveniently male bodies. So by draconic magical logic again, they were soul-bonded, but not, in strictly reproductive terms, mates. Just one, male person. Which _means,_ in draconic terms again, that they yet _require_ a mate. A female mate, preferably with a proven history of successful pregnancy. A live pregnancy, with a healthy child. A bloody buggering bollocking _dragon_ of a child."

"Jesus _fuck_!"

"Indeed. End result in their eyes: four bodies, two people, two souls, each pair independently infertile. And we invited them over for tea, and they accepted, and the one bit of the Horntails' active consciousness that was left after healing Charlie, and magically defining him and Ren, once they consummated on their wedding night, not just as one soul, but one flesh - decided to cement the proposed merger between the four, or rather in their eyes, two of us. Interesting fact of the day? Hungarian Horntails don't do foreplay any more than they do metaphor. They just assumed that acceptance of tea meant acceptance of the deal."

Namirembe snorted.

"So," Narcissa continued. "While Master-Adept Weasley-Cartwright was ever so kindly removing another man's brand from my husband's arm, after placing a bio-runic fence around his heart to protect him from nasty side effects, those absolute _morons_ of Horntails decided that was the moment that he _and_ Charlie - because remember that in their eyes, insofar as fertility is concerned, Charlie and Ren are the same person now - was saying 'yes, you're mine, have _my_ brand', and proceeded to do... Whatever they did to _seal_ the deal."

The snort cut off abruptly.

"Wha... Wait, wait. _What?_ Are you saying... Does that mean you don't have any _choice_? That they have to offer you Solace now, and that you have to accept it, even if you decide you don't like each other?"

"No, no. We don't _have_ to do anything. The problem is, is that if we decide _not_ to, Solace won't ever work for any of us with anyone else. Only bloody buggering bollocking Hungarian Horntails can't reproduce with anyone but their designated mates, see? They can shag whomever they like, whenever, but there'll be no bloody buggering bollocking eggs from it."

"So..."

"No other maternal candidates for them," she translated. "No other proxy options for us. Ever."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Wow," her mentor said finally. "I.... Don't know what to say to that, Nissie."

"Oh, it's not all horrible." The quirk turned a little sardonic. "Turns out they actually, in the middle of all of this, did us all a favour."

"What's that?"

"The overriding infusion of their brand of fertility magic into the equation mixed things up a bit. Now that Luke and I are one," she said. "And they're one, any child resulting will in fact, have biological genetic markers from all of us."

"Erhm. What?"

"The resemblance to Luke won't be an exercise in magical spite. It'll be a real one."

"WHAT?"

"The curse is effectively broken - or rather, rewritten. I can have his children," Narcissa said. "I can have Luke's children again, Nami. All we have to do to get them is to accept the fact that all of those children will be both Charlie and Ren's as well."

*

"Wow," Namirembe said, blankly again. " _Okay,_ then. Just... Wow. And how do we feel about _that?_ "

"Bit slaggish, really," Narcissa confessed, surprisingly candidly. "I mean, alright, I might not actually have to sleep with them, but you _know_ where people's minds will go."

"They're there already, sweetie. Trust me. And... _Might_ not?"

"Yes. Now that there are four bodies involved, the Master-Adept said that it's quite possible that conception will be a multiple-step process."

"Uh?"

"Oh, for... Use your bloody imagination, woman! I know you're a proponent of the straightforward approach, but do I have to spell _everything_ out for you?"

"No, and I am. It's on bloody overdrive, believe you me. My imagination, that is. What was Lucius' reaction?"

"That it's a lot to absorb?  He's a strategist, he's used to making projections, but this isn't anything that he could possibly, _possibly_ have anticipated. That any of us could have."

"My brain hurts." The larger woman held her head. "Oh my God. And what do _they_ think? Weasley and Cartwright, I mean?"

"Weasley-Cartwright. No 'and'. Also, no idea. It was a lot to absorb at the time, like I said. And there's the meeting now, besides, and we needed to concentrate on that. We finished up our drinks - there was no tea involved in any of them after that point, believe you me - and they went off to run some errands. They'll be here later though, and said we'll all talk more on the subject after the clean-up. In the meantime..."

"I won't say a word," her friend promised. "I swear." She hesitated. "Nissie?"

"Yes?"

"All else aside... _Do_ you like them?"

Narcissa was silent.

"I don't know," she said at last, again. "They're not what we expected, like I said. At all." Not just the understatement of the last ten millennia, she thought, but of the last... _Ever_.

"Do you _dis_ like them?"

"No more than they dislike us. I'm fairly certain that we're not what they expected either."

"No one ever is," her former advisor said philosophically. "So maybe it's best just to leave that qualifier out of the picture, when it comes right down to it? It _has_ been less than a week since you met them; that's barely enough time to process your first impressions of them, much less perform accurate character assessments."

"What, you're on their side now?"

"What, they're enemies now? There are only two sides to take here, Nissie; the one that helps prevent the world from going down the crapper again, and the one that doesn't. I might be a career combat duelist, but I'm not really interested in practicing on anything but the purely recreational level when it comes right down to it. I mean, I would if it were necessary, obviously, but I'm just not into scenarios that take out my adoring fans. Insofar as your options are concerned, if they are really your only reproductive option... What's wrong with encouraging you to embrace a perspective that will allow you to be happy with the hand dealt you? Never mind that it'll annoy the shit out of that Weasley cow," she added, craning her neck. "Damn. All that cash come in, you'd think she could find herself a decent hair stylist. Do you think it would be tacky to slip the name of mine in her robe pocket?"

"Not as long as you don't sign it 'Hugs and Kisses, Namirembe.' Your fetish for public recognition aside, anonymity really is best in such delicate matters. Also," the younger woman added. "In her very reluctant defense, she might very well have decided it prudent to put off any appointment there till tomorrow. We're none of us likely to come out of this with our impeccable coiffures intact, none of us whose names don't start with 'Remus' and end with 'Lupin', anyway."

Namirembe laughed. "He's a cutie," she conceded. "Your cousin's one lucky bugger. I'd play Little Red Riding Hood to his ex-werewolf any day, never mind letting him eat me right up."

"Aaaaand back to the subject at hand. What did Molly Weasley ever do to you again?"

"Nothing. I've never exchanged two words with her, but now that she's probably going to be your mother-in-law, or at the very least your kids' grandmum, I feel obliged to commiserate in advance. Want me to drop a mountain on her for you? Lots of them in Wales, just make sure she goes in on my team and we'll be all set."

"That won't be necessary. You know me; I'm a firm believer in letting people bury themselves."

"Since when?"

"It's a recent development. Though, given that, and because we are friends, and because I really have no interest in seeing you embarrass yourself... You might want to start working up an alternative or two to your standard thrown mountain ranges."

"He's a defensive specialist, Nissikins. He might be able to power a shield that holds off an army for half an hour or so, but I can keep throwing things at him till the cows come home."

"And he won't have to throw things back, Nami," she said patiently. "At any point. All he'll have to do is power that shield to return your offerings to sender."

"Wha..." The cookie stopped at her lips.

"Police box? Reflective runic shield? Bio-runic expert, with the quite-probable ability to turn _himself_ into a reflective runic shield at the drop of an inky biro?" Narcissa rolled her eyes at the blank expression. "'He's rubber, you're glue; throw mountains at him, they'll stick to you'... Honestly, woman, you were right _there_ for his dueling exam when he explained it all! He didn't even make you pick up the bloody telephone before he dropped the bloody mountain-sized hint!"

"God _dam_ mit!" Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs said in heartfelt dismay.

"I'm fairly certain that God's quite fond of him these days, since he stepped up to save the world and all. You're not likely to get any help there, I'm afraid."

Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs disdained to answer that, just snarled and slammed off to the drinks table.

* * *

 

**_The Malfoys' Garden Room_ **

**_Several Drinks (All Around) Later_ **

_"I would just like to say," Charlie Weasley-Cartwright observed as he stretched out his legs and examined the ice in his tumbler. "That when I said the firewhiskey is intended as a facilitator, that this  was not what I had in mind."_

_"On the other hand," Lucius noted. "You did, while at the bank on Monday, emphasize the fact  that the standard protocols did not apply in our case." He nibbled on an egg and cress sandwich from the tray of assorted comestibles now on the coffee table. "I do not suppose that you are able to reassure us that you would have told us the entire story eventually?"_

_"I just remembered the entire story last week," the wrangler pointed out. "And Mate's been working with that the mnemonic disadvantage till September. He just thought he'd died and gone back in time."_

_"Two years," Narcissa said to Ren yet again. "And your mother didn't even_ check _on you?"_

_"See?" Ren said to Charlie plaintively. "I'm not the only one who's stuck on that bit! It's not just down to my resurrected adolescent angst after all!"_

_"Pretty sure your adolescent angst didn't actually die any more than the pair of us did, mate," Charlie said dryly, helping himself to a third delectable blueberry tart. "So there was never anything there to be resurrected."_

_"Nice, man."  The Warder helped_ him _self to a treacle tart._

_"True, though." His husband flicked his cowlick. "Let it go. She buggered it up, yeah, but then again, I didn't see you coming to knock down the Burrow door to break me out."_

_"I was nine again, you great git! What, I was supposed to hunt you down and announce 'Hi, I'm Harry Potter, your soulmate from the future, let me take you away from all this and allow you to raise me to physical adulthood so we can shag like maniacs till you get magical cancer and I have to AK  you all over again?"_

_"I'd wince reproachfully for that," Charlie conceded. "But you might have a point.'_

_"Also," Ren added. "I didn't know I was bent till Saturday.That takes the soulmate bit and the shagging bit out of the entire scenario, which just leaves "Harry Potter', 'future', and 'cancer'' and 'AK',  and it's not like I could have even stopped you from getting sick in the first place, because I didn't know it was that bloody wand that caused it!"_

_"As fascinating as this exchange is," Lucius said. "My question still stands."_

_Ren grimaced and lowered his tart._

_"I don't know," he said. "I don't... Only how do you bring up something like that? I reckon if things had gone on the regular way, such as the regular way is, I would have told you a version of my childhood, because it would have been the responsible thing to do, parentally speaking. You would have had the right to know what kind of...."_

_He stopped._

_"I wasn't the greatest father,' he said. "I loved my kids, but I just..." His shoulders tightened. "I didn't exactly have good, age-appropriate role models there. Ever. Well, there was Arthur, but ..."_

_"But what?" Narcissa asked._

_"I reckon that was a bit messed up too," the Warder said. "In terms of the dynamic, because I saved his life, yeah? Directly. My mind-healer and I talked on that quite a bit; she said that kids aren't supposed to save adults, adults are supposed to save kids. And I didn't resent it, of course I didn't, but it made a difference. In me, in how I saw him as someone who qualified as a parent, my parent, because it was all backwards. It was really.... When it came right down to it, I saved everybody. One way or the other, she said. The only person - the only father, or destined-to-be-a-father - that I didn't save, or risk, in my psyche's formative years was Neville. Right from the first year, he was just... Hermione and Ron and I snuck out to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone, right, and he caught us, and threatened to fight us to keep us in line. At_ eleven _. And Dumbledore would never listen when I told him about the Dursleys, and Remus and Sirius both died, and Snape. Well. Snape." He grimaced._

_"What about Mig?" Charlie asked._

_"He wasn't a father. He never married. I don't even ever remembering him looking at a woman with intent, or a man either, for that matter, and yeah, he had dozens of nieces and nephews who adored him, but without the direct personal context, I never thought on him in the paternal sense. And okay, my mates all grew up and had kids, but really, they just made me feel even more inadequate, because their kids were right there, reaping all the benefits that I could never offer mine. I was a fantastic_ grandfather," _he said. "But... Even now. It was horrid with me and Al. He was always Harry Potter's son. What's it going to be like for any we all might have now, as Ren Cartwright's kids?"_

 _"Solace does make a difference, mate, and you've got the benefit of all that experience to be going with now besides, yeah?_ And _the applicable hindsight? There's no way, no_ way _you'd let the world bugger you the way it did back home, never mind that you'd have two other dads to help you along through the tight spots. Oh, and Niss as the world's greatest mum ever, never mind Neville again, still there as doting Gramps, and Sirius and Remus too. You're not alone with it. You're not alone, period."_

_Ren was silent._

_"I would have told you that bit," he said at last, not looking at the couple opposite. "Maybe not the details... But that there'd be some paternal compensation necessary. And why. Generally. The rest of it... Would you have believed us if you hadn't literally seen it yourselves?"_

_"Quite probably not," his host conceded. "Though... Do you do not have a sense that the differences in our ages will affect things?"_

_The Warder laughed at that... There was little, if any humour in it._

_"It's a number,' he said. "One that only, in the long run, has provided me with a learned and earned appreciation for the peaceful, quiet life. Take out the creaky joints and the cold feet and the piss-poor digestion - and I'm not remotely sorry to see_ those _go - and all that's left is what you see before you, only with all of the extra, hopefully-helpful-now-and-again accumulated experience that comes with living through fourteen decades. I don't pretend to be wise and infallible just because I've got the physical years under my belt. Living a long time doesn't make you smart or special or worthy of respect in and of itself. It just means you haven't died yet. And for all that they called me the Boy-Who-Lived, it wasn't even especially accurate. More, again, the Boy-Who-Didn't-Die. Not even the Man-Who-Didn't-Die: the_ Boy _. Hundred thirty-six when I kicked it, and that's what they still called me. It was in my obituary, I'm sure. It's how they taught me to see myself. And for better or worse, till now... It's stuck."_

_"Well, we need not ask or resolve all questions today. May I ask you this, at least," Lucius said. "Is our godson truly safe?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And he is with with your grandfa... the Headmaster's son and daughter-in-law?"_

_"Yeah. Frankie, and his wife Stella. They don't come any better, on any world. They'll feed him up, get him all the help he needs, and make sure he develops a proper, balanced perspective on life besides. And he's got my counterpart there too. The Harry Potter who lives here."_

_"And Augusta is aware?"_

_"Yeah. Of all of it. Neil told her, back at the beginning of the school year."_

_"You are sure their return is guaranteed? Even though your team got the wrong universe?"_

_"They didn't get the wrong universe," Ren said. "They didn't get the one they thought they were targeting, but since they never actually targeted that one in the first place,  there was nothing to go wrong. Yours was the original all along; Hermione and the other girls went back decades before the arithmantic and runic parameters of the Project were defined, after all, in order to write Charlie in, and the Horntails chose the one that they thought would be most appropriate to be to be going  with before we ever went looking, chronologically speaking."_

_"So... your vision, so to speak, was led by the nose?"_

_"Yup. Total bait and switch; the Project Managers never would have gone for a world that wasn't an exact match; it had to be, they thought, but that was because they didn't know the Horntails were  involved again, and who the hell in their right minds would ever throw dragons in as an element in something this big? Not a lot of people know they're intelligent, or would believe it of them, and they're really scary besides. So... Somehow the girls and Bill - our Bill - managed to glamour it up so we thought we were seeing one thing, while we were actually looking at something completely different - and we defined the parameters of the project by the parameters of that something completely different, and with the magical cores of the matches we found for our participants there. There were no options to confuse, because this world was the only one we ever used."_

_Lucius had the look of someone about to come down with a blazing migraine._

_"They'll be back," Ren assured him. "The only way it can all get buggered up now is if they were to decide to go in and intentionally mess with the parameters after the gate was opened, on the assumption that they'd made a crucial error, and that would never have happened. The errors would have had to have been made on the arithmantic end of things, and that wouldn't have happened, not with Astra in charge. Errors are simply not in her personal vocabulary."_

_"And Astra is..."_

_"Astra Longbottom Malfoy. Frankie's daughter, and Neil's granddaughter. She's married to Pollux Malfoy, your counterpart's..." He squinted. "Great-great grandson? Yeah. Our Draco's great grandson. They're age equivalent, but the generations are mixed there because while the rest of my generation had our kids right on traditional biological schedule,  Frankie was born when Neil and his wife were just shy of sixty."_

_"Six... Truly?"_

_"Yeah. I'll draw you a family tree at some point. Or a family forest. It was pretty damned epic by the end there." He knocked back the last of the whiskey and set the tumbler aside, cracking his knuckles and slipping forward to sit on the edge of the sofa. "Alright. Let's see 'em."_

_"I'm sorry?"_

_"Maps, plans, notes, what-have you. No question of trusting you now, and from the bit I saw, you have things in hand, but I have how many decades in DADA, dueling, Warding and oh, yeah, Auroring, and we look like we have a busy couple of days ahead."_

_"Lawrence..."_

_"No," Narcissa said immediately. "You're going to Romania, on your honeymoon."_

_"No," Ren said kindly to her. "We're not. We're taking these sons-of-bitches down together, and before you say that you can manage without me, I'll offer you up an example of why you might not want to risk that."_

_"You may try, but..."_

_"Those cauldrons of Felix Felicitas you've got simmering away down there," Ren cut off Lucius. "The ones that you plan to hand out to all of your allies to guarantee them their best day ever?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"What kind of day would Riddle have had if he'd ever decided, with all best intentions and those stars on you in his eyes, to offer you a vial of that to guarantee his win?"_

_Lucius opened his mouth, and shut it again._

_"Not everyone on the inside is your friend," Ren informed him. "Sometimes a safehouse is a harbour for rats. These blokes - well, the three blokes and the bitch - operate through_ Quidditch. Kiddie _Quidditch. What are the odds that at least a few of the people you think are your allies know exactly what's going on there, and keep their mouths shut because their own kids, whether enrolled in the feeder leagues or not, are at risk or under threat?"_

_Charlie blanched._

_"Christ," he said. "No._ No _."_

_"How many of your family did you say had been targeted again?" his husband inquired. "You, Freddie, George, and potentially Niamh... And how badly did you say they'd want Niamh, and just how badly did you say, again, that your Mum hates the Junior Leagues?"_

_"You think_ Mum _knows?"_

 _"Not saying she does, not saying she doesn't. I'm just asking you... What would she do, what -_ who _\- would she be willing to sacrifice - if one of her own kids was at stake?"_

_"She can't know! She can't! They never got any of us! They've got nothing on her!"_

_"No? The goblins deal in_ drugs _, Charlie. Where do you think they might have got those drugs? Through what channels?"_

 _"What are you_ saying _?"_

_"That mycanthus isn't cheap," the still-in-spite-of-himself Harry Potter said bluntly. "And your family had no money till this year. Sometimes dealers will wait on payment, if the potential payout's hot enough. They make a suggestion, your mum takes a gamble on the odds that God will come around in good time, she wins that gamble big-time - enough to pay off all old debts with extra cash in hand... And the dealers are pissed enough at her for escaping them that they decide to make the point to her of cashing in on their preferred version of the deal anyway, while ostensibly targeting someone else's kid."_

_"Christ," Charlie said. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears. "_ Christ! _"_

 _"It's only part of the story," Ren said. "I'm sure. There are other factors, other players... But I'll bet my broom that it_ is _part of the story. No wonder the goblins were shitting themselves when I brought up the drugs. If they've been working through suppliers and contacts in the cabals... However at a distance... And the wizarding community finds out... You would have to wonder, wouldn't you, how many of those that they were hired to assassinate were sent to the cabals, for disposal with untraceable prejudice? They don't_ just _deal in children, after all, and what of all the Nomaji they work with besides? You don't think that the goblins have never taken contracts from non-magical clients, do you? Only they're a bit obviously not-human themselves, and they'd need front-men, wouldn't they, to advertise certain of their service options without breaking the Statute of Secrecy?_

_There was a rather dire silence._

* * *

**_Malfoy Manor_ **

**_The Conference Chambers_ **

**_11.55 PM_ **

"Much better." Namirembe returned, glass in hand, and recast the _Muffliato_ as she glanced around. "Looks like everyone's here... Where's your handsome hubby? Can't exactly get this party started without him, can we?"

"He's still in the private reception room with Amelia Bones and Mad-Eye," Narcissa said. She looked, to her former advisor's eye, more than a little jittery. "They're all giving Fudge the breakdown."

" _Fudge? Fudge_ is here?"

"Yes, of course. He's the Minister of Magic, Nami; we couldn't exactly blackball him."

"Why not?" she demanded. "He's shit on the shoe of Great Britain these days, Nissie! No, the _smell_ of the shit on the shoe of Great Britain! Also, a complete international embarrassment. Honestly, it's almost enough to make me cancel my citizenship."

"Be that as it may, he's yet the democratically elected shit. Smell. Whatever. Both. He won't make it through the next election, but in the meantime, he's what we've got, and we have to work with him."

"Bugger." Namirembe slurped her drink sadly.  

"Mm," Narcissa agreed, and looked over at the great doors. Namirembe followed her gaze. Amelia Bones was standing there, mouth tight and eyes frigidly displeased... Mad-Eye Moody was there as well; he looked as if he were on the verge of rupturing something.  Cornelius Fudge, clad in his shiny green suit and bowler, looked as he usually did: that is, stupid. The stupid was at least partially deceptive, Narcissa knew...  Great Britain's Minister of Magic actually personified cunning, if not intelligence, but he was no less annoying for the fact. It was the fourth figure there that caught everyone's attention though. Slightly behind them, fully six and a half feet in his battle boots, with shoulders that nearly filled the door, stood Lucius Malfoy. He was clad in slate-blue soft trousers and a white open-throated shirt, neatly bloused... A soft glimmer of gold shone between his collarbones; his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and his icy hair was pulled back in a neat tight braid. Impeccable as always, yes, but even from the distance, the two women could see that his face was pale as glass, his mouth taut and tense, the sharp angles of his cheekbones brittle rather than refined, and the circles under his eyes as dark as the double holsters on the belt at his hips.

"Jesus _fuck_ ," Namirembe said, taken aback. "He looks like total shit, Nissie!  What the..." Narcissa just swore violently and unhappily under her breath.

"Do _not_ tell me," her advisor said as the Minister of Magic made his way to the podium and cleared his throat, tapping said throat with his wand in a projected _Sonorus_. "Do not _tell_ me."

"Luke was cleared on appeal all those years ago," Narcissa confirmed unhappily. "After he was convicted, but for lack of evidence rather than confirmation of innocence. And with Riddle on the loose now - oh, don't tell me you didn’t know, everybody bloody knows, nobody's talking on it, is all - what do you _think_ certain people were bound to think when the answers to all of this mess showed up on our doorstep but that it's all a giant set-up on his purported General's part to off the entire Order of the Phoenix all at once? Amelia and Mad-Eye know better; they know us, and they said they'd handle him, but when it comes right down to it..."

"I thank  you all for coming tonight," Cornelius Fudge said pompously. "Your prompt response does you all credit, and we acknowledge your dedication to the return of law and the safety of our citizens. I am greatly afraid though, that as our host, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, categorically refuses to reveal his sources, that the Ministry of Magic cannot and will not justify or authorize this kind of attack on private citizens."

 


	16. Wednesday Night/Thursday Dawn (1): The Forests of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab List
> 
> puta - whore  
> por favor - please

 

**Castelobruxo School**

**Brazil**

**January 17, 1971**

Contrary to the immortal opinion of one T.S. Eliot, January, rather than April, was the cruelest month in Brazil: both torment and tormented.

The first term had been unnaturally quiet. There were, over the four months counted from the first of September through the third week of December, less than half a dozen reported losses. Far from appreciating the reprieve though, the students’ tension only built, and by the time the last portkey to Manaus had activated on the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays, the collective mood was just shy of abject panic. Lucius didn’t understand the contradiction at all, and was far too uneasy to ask... Even Antonio Silva seemed unnerved, and that was quite enough to render his heart mute on the subject.

As it turned out again, the young Englishman didn’t have to wait long for the explanation. The students returned on the first day of the new term to the tolling of the school-wide mourning bell, and its echoes were no sooner silenced than it started up again. All throughout the month that followed, there was no single day when fewer than four pale, black-edged letters were delivered to the school (not counting the multiple versions of the same missive if enrolled siblings were affected), each marked with the official seal of the government of its country of origin. Each letter appeared, if the student receiving word of a loss was underage, to their advisor, to be delivered in person. If the student in question was seventeen, it appeared before them personally.

The bell only sounded and the letters were only delivered during class hours, so that none were alone or without support.  A kindness of sorts, perhaps, but on the other hand, it served just as well in providing Lucius the opportunity to establish his life-long personal context  for the phrase 'agonies of the damned'. He  truly didn’t know for whom he felt worse: the teachers, burdened doubly with the shock of a missive appeared before them and the task of meeting the eyes of one of the paralyzed children sitting before them, the children themselves, all praying frantically that they would be passed over (all while knowing that their God would fail to answer at least one of them), or the newly minted 'adults', every one of whom would mark the end of their official childhood, not by the turn of the year come round to the day, but with that first personally delivered invitation to sit at the adults'  table and partake in their continent's ongoing twenty-four-hour celebration of the Last Supper before heading off for their appointed shifts in the garden of Gethsemane and at the foot of the Cross.

Lucius Malfoy would suffer much in the years that followed, but if there was any one thing that saved him from insanity and despair during those years, it was the knowledge that, no matter what fresh hell Tom Riddle visited upon him, there existed at least one deeper, hotter version that he had survived before he ever officially met the demon in question.

On the worst day of the month - the seventeenth: Ramone's birthday  - no fewer than twenty nine black-edged letters were delivered to Castelobruxo School, each appearing on the first reverberating note of the bell before the teacher to whom the unfortunate student was assigned. Only one appeared before the student herself. That student was Carmen Lopez, come of age two and a half months before on All Saints’ Eve: October 31st, 1970. The bell tolled halfway through Nomaj Appreciation. The young woman sat for a full five minutes, staring at the envelope before her as the other students bent their heads  and prayed silently... Caught mid-explanation of the preferred themes of William Blake, Silva brought his chair over (he rarely used it, preferring to perch on his desk facing his classes as he taught) and came to sit beside her. He said not a word, just put a gentle arm around her shoulders. When at last she took the envelope in her hands, the classroom was so quiet Lucius could hear the seal snap.

Under their shared desk, Ramone clutched Lucius' own hand. Lopez said nothing, her expression impassive as she read. When she was finished, she refolded the page and tucked it into the envelope. As she put it back in the precise position that it had appeared on the desk, the lighter green trim of her emerald robes turned a deep purple. The trim of Lucius' own robes, once his mother's death had been announced, had turned azure blue... Upon inquiry, Ramone had retrieved his room-mate's  orientation packet from the drawer of his nightstand and extracted a single sheet.

"You see here," he said, sitting beside him as Lucius perused the two columns inscribed there. "Each colour listed reflects the degree of relation that those in mourning had with the lost. Red for the paternal, blue for the maternal, light yellow for sister, deeper yellow for a brother... Those who grieve have enough questions of their own, always, without being inflicted with the burden of having to answer the most painful of them over and over and over again. It is all about consideration, heh?"

"How long before they turn back?" Lucius asked, examining the sheet (orange for a first cousin, navy for a neighbour of no blood relation that had been close enough to call family, white for a son, should a teacher be the unfortunate recipient of the notification, silver for a daughter, and copper for spouses).

"Two weeks. Enough time for everyone to note the presence of the change, and to remember that they must be kind and understanding even after it has faded. If you do not wish it," he added, "I am sure that _Tio_ would change it back for you."

For a moment, Lucius had seriously considered it. He understood the reasoning well enough, but his natural British reserve was positively cringing at the thought of others being privy to the finer specifics behind his current emotional state. In the end...

"No," he found himself saying. "No, it is alright. Mother loved blue, and on the days she was particularly irked with Abraxas would always put the extra effort into ensuring that I was happy with life. My own eyes are only grey when I am annoyed or angry," he explained at Ramone's inquiring look. "They turn blue when I am content. He hates the fact. Malfoy men do not have blue eyes; I am the first in twenty generations of the direct line to break tradition there."

Purple, he had learned (far, far better than he would ever in his life have wished to learn anything), denoted the loss of a grandparent. The shade was wrong though, he thought, puzzled, as he regarded Lopez’ robes... Lavender was for the feminine there, and violet for the masculine. It took him a moment to put the pieces together: that the deep, richer variation must mean that both had been lost. He watched as Lopez abruptly blurred. A small, wide-eyed bird with a ridiculous blue and orange crest appeared in her place. Lucius almost imagined he could see it weeping as it careened out of the classroom.

He looked at Ramone anxiously. Ramone just shook his head. Silva murmured a few words; a brilliant ghostly spider appeared and slipped through the door. Before Lucius, in his spiral-bound notebook, words appeared suddenly, inked in the young Brazilian's elegant script.

_He has sent a message to her advisor. She will locate her, and attend to her._

Lucius hesitated, then inked a tiny question mark under the words. In response...

_She is from Colombia, but her grandparents lived in Belen, in Peru. It is a very poor village, and the houses are built on rafts and stilts over the river. There are very few Magicals who have ever lived there at any point in history, and no Nomaji-born for three generations now, so we have no way to warn any of the residents of the dangers of living there without breaking the Statute of Secrecy.  Her grandparents moved there intentionally after their children were grown because they wished to do what they could for the people there. She has always known that their letters would come._

Lucius propped his head in his fist.  He knew the name Belen. It was the same village where Silva's first heart, Gabriel Santa Cruz, had been born. He didn’t look up to see Silva's face as he returned to the front of the room. He didn’t have to. Their new empathic connection, stronger than ever after the holidays and the time they'd spent alone together, not as teacher and student, but as phoenix and heart, ensured that he could feel the sharp stab of the priest's renewed pain as if it were his own.

That evening, Lucius sat on his bed, watching as Ramone charmed his green robes to purest white. It was the tradition for those attending the Requiem Masses for the lost, and there had been one every night that month. When he was dressed, he kissed Lucius' cheek, and slipped out. When he was gone, Lucius rose and went to the closet, retrieving what hung within. He too dressed carefully and headed through the maze to the chapel. His near-military-styled black dress robes shone in stark, reversed contrast to the white-robed figures moving through the hall... The heels of his high, shining boots rang precisely on the stone floors.

There was no room in the pews when he arrived. No one made room, so he stood, as he had every night since the beginning of the month, against the back wall and just inside the doors of the chapel, facing the altar. His features were impassive, his feet braced slightly apart, his hands folded behind his back. Beneath his lifted chin (no indication of pride or arrogance, but the necessary accommodation for his high, stiff collar) the formal crest of the Heir of House Malfoy glimmered.  At an angle, in the front rows reserved for the bereaved of the day, he saw someone prod Carmen Lopez. She turned, her eyes meeting his. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. Quite deliberately, she turned her back.

It was the only movement he made for the next hour and a half. When the Mass ended and everyone filed out, he stood by the door till the last was gone. He went to one of the high arched alcoves that lined the sides of the room, and releasing his wand, surveyed the rows of lit candles. When he located one yet dark, he touched his wand to the wick. A small spark flared and caught. When he turned, he very nearly jumped out of his boots at sight of the figure standing behind him. He lowered his wand slowly.

"Your presence here is offensive," Carmen Lopez said to him harshly. "Due courtesy to guests is mandated, but you are not welcome at such times as these. You are not one of us, and never will be."

"I do not come here to offend," Lucius said quietly. "Nor for the welcome. And... I am well aware."

Her mouth hardened.

"Why are you still here?" she demanded. "How is it that you were you not sent home with the others, in September?"

"I am told that your Jesus arranged it. Who am I to argue His means and motives?"

"You are nothing," she told him. Her wide, wet eyes shimmered in the candlelight, her hair rising, not as a wave, but as the high crest of a bird away from her slim cheeks and high forehead. "You kill us. You _kill_ us. It is all that any of you have to offer. You are the real lethifolds, eating us alive with not even the grace to give thanks for that which fuels and sustains you."

Lucius down looked at her.  She was only three inches shorter than he was, but the boots raised him an extra two.

"You came to my mother's memorial," he said quietly.

"I was made to," she said spitefully. "We all were. If it were not for Padre's dictate, not one of us would have come. You think we care about your _puta_ of a mother, Malfoy?"

'No," he conceded. He was well aware of the meaning of the particular insult,  but his mother would have twisted his ear, metaphorically speaking anyway, if he'd demonstrated insult on her behalf in the particular moment. "You did not know her. I do not suppose that anyone can be expected to care on someone that they did not know."

He turned his back, searching for another cold candle. He could feel her eyes boring through his back.

"I am very sorry for your loss," he said, without turning again.

" _Obrigada_. You are so kind. I am not at all sorry for yours. I am glad your mother is dead. It is one less of you to think on. To kill us, every day."

"You did not think on her before I came here," he pointed out. "You did not know her name, or even that she existed."

"I will forget you,' Carmen Lopez said bitterly, to his back. "As soon as you are gone. It will be my _pleasure_ to forget you. To erase you from my memory, as all of us are erased by you."

He turned to face her again at that.

"I would remember all of your names, if I could," he said. "Perhaps that is not enough for you. For any of you. But it is all that I have to offer. All - and everything - that is within my power to offer, in this one moment."

"It is nothing. _You_ are nothing."

"You are not the first to tell me that," he said. "And you will not be the last. Yours is not the only jungle in this world.  For all that we have so few trees in England, relatively speaking... That particular breed of forest grows everywhere. The major difference between my jungle and yours is that yours hosts lethifolds and mine hosts Dementors."

For a moment, a long moment, the young woman just stared at him, visibly disconcerted and distracted from her furious pain at the apparent non-sequitur.

"Dementors," she scoffed at him, recovering somewhat. "They are almost as rare as your people believe lethifolds."

"Is that what your leaders tell you? Or did you read it in a textbook? Lies and delusions are dealt on both sides of the ocean, Miss Lopez." Lucius listened, bemused, to the words coming from his own mouth. He had no idea where they were coming from, or for that matter, why he was saying them. "What do you have here to lose from your enemy but your memories and mortal lives? Where I come from, the costs are much higher. There may be fewer physical victims, but then again... How many lives equate to the loss of a single soul?"

"What are you _talking_ on?"

"Dementors _eat_ souls, Miss Lopez. They have jobs toward that end. Governmentally sponsored jobs, even. Only they are not interested in gold or similar themes of payment, so we have not only the things that eat souls - souls that cannot even rely, in the specific context, on your God to note their ultimate integrity and so preserve them, no matter what they are forced to do - but the creatures that think souls a reasonable trade for their own safety. Even if what you say is true - that there are but a handful of Dementors relative to the true numbers of lethifolds - they are not the real evil, are they? Even if they all were to disappear today, we would yet be surrounded by the worst kind of demons: the kind of people who would pay them again, should their like ever return." He tucked his wand away. "There are no shortage of those anywhere, I promise you."

For perhaps half a moment, Lopez seemed, if not stymied, at least considering. Then...

"The fundamental premise on which you base your argument," she said dismissively. "Is flawed.  You are operating from your understood, but faulty perspective, that relies on an essential fallacy."

"Oh?"

"Souls are not tangible things that can be stolen away. They are of God, and the only thing that may prevent them from returning to God in the conclusive vital moment is the deliberate choice, made by their possessors themselves, to withhold themselves from His grace."

"And if there is no God after all?"

"Then I am positing a metaphor that yet serves to describe their essential nature. Your perspective, my perspective... They _are_ but perspectives, and do not affect that essential and documented truth, that souls are inviolate in essence, and cannot be taken from the unwilling.  So whatever Dementors do, the actions attributed to them are misnomers."

"Really." After nearly two straight hours of standing in the pointed, tight boots, Lucius' feet hurt. Badly. He moved to sit in a pew. She did not, unsurprisingly, sit with him.

"Yes, really."

"So what is it do you think that they take?" He was genuinely curious. "Exactly, if not the soul as you define it? What is it that they steal, that leaves nothing but a blank, mindless body?"

"Sanity. That which contributes to the functions of active, mindful consciousness."

Lucius looked at her, bewildered. Carmen Lopez uttered a small sound of impatience, and in spite of herself, sat, or rather flung herself down beside him, turning to face him, one arm braced on the back of the pew as she offered him a look remarkably similar to Narcissa's when he was being particularly obtuse.

"Dementors feed on positive human emotions, do they not?" she said. "Leaving behind only despair?"

"Yes."

"Then we begin with this. What is emotion?"

Lucius fumbled, caught off guard.  Lopez waved him off impatiently.

"I will tell you. You are a European;  you will not have interpretive context. Nomajic studies have proved that emotions, and the behaviours associated with them, are the demonstrated responsive products of chemicals and chemical interactions in certain parts of the brain. Do you know of chemicals?" she asked belatedly. "At least? I do not have to explain those too, do I?"

"Yes," Lucius said. "I mean, no. You do not. I know what they are. And I know of brains too. Despite your obvious disdain for my country of origin, we do have that much, and them, in common."

"All things are possible with God. So, in Nomajic terms, one would say that a victim of the Dementors suffers a targeted attack on those parts of the brain that process the chemicals that, when interacting appropriately, induce appropriately balanced emotional reactions. This attack triggers, on the purely physiological level, instant and overwhelming crippling interference of those constantly regulating, regulated chemicals - the unnatural radical over-stimulation of some, the crushing and instantaneous repression of others, all while interfering with, and diverting, their natural patterns of delivery and processing. This results in a massive overdose of _in_ appropriate emotional reactions - the negative ones."

Lucius rubbed his neck beneath his high collar as he sorted through that, and tried for a more familiar analogy. It wasn’t difficult; he he’d been working on a major project for Ancient Runes for a week now, and the equivalencies were immediately available.

"You are saying that the brain has the equivalent of ley-lines," he said cautiously. "That travel along ley paths, and direct and define these chemicals, as ley-lines do magic? And that when a Dementor attacks, they force the ley paths to reroute... "

He paused. Lopez waited, tapping her fingers on the back of the pew.

"It is as if the attack removes the warding sequences," Lucius said. "That are incorporated in order to maintain the structural integrity of the ley paths running through those certain parts of the brain.  And that removal of the wards allows the ley paths to collapse and sprawl, thus compromising the integrity of those sequences that define the ley-lines, even as those ley-lines channel raw magic - or in this instance, chemicals again - that, if appropriately contained, defined and routed, would result not in spells, but specific and balanced emotional reactions and responses?"

"You are not entirely hopeless," Lopez conceded. "Yes. It is an acceptable, if oversimplified analogy.  The initial attack does not remove the warding sequences, it simply interferes with them, rewriting certain portions so that the parameters of the wards are extended to encompass and embrace both the concept and proposed actuality of a brand new, strictly temporary ley path - one that branches away from the brain itself, outside the very body of physical victim, bridging the distance between that victim and the Dementor, through its mouth. The wards can accept this proposal as possible, because the new ley path does exactly what certain of the standard ley paths do - it acts as a defined road for the ley-lines that regulate the interaction and distribution of those defined chemicals that result in specifically  positive emotion."

"Only they channel all of them, don't they," Lucius said in realization. "All of those chemicals, along the new path that leads to the Dementor, leaving none behind for distribution throughout the host brain? And the only thing left there, then, in the active sense within the brain itself, are those paths that relay the chemicals that induce negative emotion!"

Lopez nodded.

"In the case of the Kiss," she said. "The Dementor follows the new ley path straight back to the source. It attaches itself to the face, and..." She grimaced. "Sucks magically on the brain, deforming it in both shape and function. When it withdraws, the brain reshapes, physically, to its standardized shape, but there are no ley paths left - the Nomaji call those neural paths - no ley-lines to define the parameters of chemical interaction, and no chemicals, in fact, to travel them, in any fashion. The victim is literally emptied of that which allows him or her to function on any point past the purely autonomic level. It does not mean the soul is gone," she emphasized. "It simply means that the physical brain is damaged beyond repair, to the point of permanent physiologic and mental catatonia.  If the soul - the soul was truly gone, truly gone... The body would be dead. The body only releases the soul, you see, only at the moment of bodily death. And the Kissed body is not dead, is it? It is simply... Not functional. _Ergo_ , the soul is still in there."

"So how does the act fuel reproduc..." He stopped, revolted. "You're telling me that a Dementor's Kiss is literally a Dementor having _sex_ with the victim? And that that which it extracts on the physiological level acts as seed?"

"If one wishes to reroute the metaphor along the singularly unpleasant and ungraceful ley path… Yes. I prefer not to travel it myself, in any context."

He flushed. "I am sorry. I just..." He shuddered convulsively. "Bleah. Bleah, bleah, bleah, bleah, _bleah_."

"Mm," she agreed. "In reproductive terms... Dementors are the Magical embodiment of fear and despair. Like lethifolds, they are quintessentially Dark. Evil. Evil cannot act as a source of anything, _Senhor_ Malfoy. It cannot reproduce on its own; it is a shadow, reactive rather than productive, and there is nothing there to work with in terms of fertilization. It can only distort and mutate that which it steals from the creative source, and so it does."

"Why do you think they do not exist in the tropics?" he asked. It was something he had always wondered.

"Because they would starve. They feed on pure, positive emotion. True positive emotion, true happiness... It is always a little compromised here. We cannot separate our sorrows from our joys the way others in other, more innocent, blissfully ignorant and gullible lands do, chemically or otherwise. And so when we achieve it, or are offered it... We do not let go there without a fight. It is why it is so hard to erase Magicals here, from the mind of other Magicals who love them. When the world betrays you so constantly, when the very land you inhabit rapes and kills you so very thoroughly every moment... There are only two sources of absolute joy: God, and those who stand beside you and suffer with you.  And those who stand with you may be lost, but we in South and Central America, _Senhor_ Malfoy... We never let them go. If the Evil One himself cannot take them from us, no mere shadow can hope to accomplish it."

They sat for a few more minutes in silence.

"Why have I not heard of all this?" Lucius asked finally. "At home?"

"Because it is an explanation that incorporates things we have learned from the Nomaji, and again, you Europeans do not believe that there is anything worth studying there. It is against your cultural policy, and offends your sense of native superiority besides."

"That is not true! Well," he qualified. "Not entirely true. Not in all instances. And the Americans are just as bad."

"The Americans learn from the Nomaji. They simply do not associate with them socially. There is a difference. Insofar as Europe is concerned, it _is_ entirely true, at least on the official educational level. Where did you say that you learned of chemicals again?"

Lucius sighed, and slumped a little.

"From a Nomaji-born classmate," he admitted reluctantly. "We were assigned to work on a potions project together, and he was explaining to me that the Nomaji do, in fact, have potions, only they call it chemistry. I asked him how you can create potions without magic, and he gave me several lessons on cross-cultural equivalencies, starting with, though certainly not ending with, the subject at hand."

"Mm." Lopez hoisted herself up, went to the alcove that hosted one of the tables of candles and associated paraphernalia, and returned with a slip of paper and a biro. "Here," she said, scribbling. "Look these up."

"What are they?"

"Books. Nomaji books. You will find them all in the library here. They discuss human anatomy and physiology and cognitive processing and development, all from the point of view of those who are not crippled by the fundamental belief that lack of a magical core means lack of native intelligence. Read them. Learn. Be astonished, and when you next see Padre, be sure to tell him that I have done my very, very personal best to counter your appalling ignorance so that he may give me extra credit for my efforts in his class."

"Thank you," he said politely, folding the paper and tucking it into his pocket. "I appreciate it, even if it _is_ all for nothing."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"That I am nothing. You have said so yourself. Therefore all that you have just said... Is for nothing. I like your Animagus form," he offered as she glared. "It is an Amazonian Royal Flycatcher, is it not?"

"Yes. It is. Though it is very rude to make observations such as that when the form has not been deliberately and consciously shown you."

"Ah. You may ask Padre Silva my form if you like, when _you_ next see him, as my apology. I have no idea what it will be, but he does, and though he will not tell me, you may tell him he has my permission to inform you."

"What?" For the first time, the look she offered him was completely devoid of anything but peculiar bemusement. "Why would he not tell you your form? You are working with such an abbreviated schedule, and once you know, the entire procedure tends to go much faster!"

"He says that if I wish to know, I must ask Jesus. He has been trying to further our mutual acquaintance for quite some time now, and believes that my unsatisfied curiosity there will provide incentive to allow him to make the introductions. Carriera knows too, I am convinced, but he says that as I am obviously one of those individuals who must know the gender of the child as soon as his wife has conceived, he feels spiritually bound to allow me the opportunity to cultivate patience."

"That is ridiculous as he is," Carmen Lopez said irritably. Lucius had to stifle a grin. The school's attitude toward Ramone had improved considerably after he had recovered from his fall, but the young woman before him seemed to think that her sincerest apology was best tendered through their joint expression of their relationship as it would likely have evolved if the past had never been tampered with - that is, of siblings who, however fond of each other, were in the chronic (loud, and loudly expressed) habit of annoying each other by breathing.  Silva, unsurprisingly, found it all immensely amusing. "Of course you would want to know the gender of your child! How else would you call it its proper name from the beginning?"

"That was my argument exactly!  He says that does not matter in my case, since all six of the godchildren that he has decided that my girlfriend and I are destined to provide him will be named for him."

"Boys and girls both?"

"Mm."

She said nothing more, just rolled her eyes as she turned to the door of the chapel. Lucius watched her go, a tall, dark figure in white slipping from the light-ridden room to the light-ridden hall beyond. He turned back to the front, still sitting in the pew, and regarded the exquisite crucifix hanging over the altar, and beneath it, the tiny wooden tabernacle. He closed his eyes, carefully and deliberately willing all memories, and past and future related memories, of Carmen Lopez into the warded room within his mind. He felt nothing, but that, Silva had reassured him, did not mean nothing was happening... He would only feel something, the priest had told him, when the memory he chose as the key was accepted by the magics. In the meantime, all was being stored and placed as stones in the walls in preparation. Nearly five months yet, the young Englishman thought, and rose from the pew: a tall, pale figure in black moving through the light-ridden room, through the door, and into the light-ridden hall beyond.

When he arrived back at the dormitories, Ramone was lying on his bed in his pajamas, reading a book. Something was off there, Lucius thought, and it took him a moment to realize what it was... He pondered the possible implications and the significance of the day's date as he stripped off his robes and tugged on his own pajamas, sneaking glances all the while. Ramone eyed him over the top of his book.

"Yes?" he inquired politely. "You have a question for me, Malfoy-from-England?"

"You are not wearing socks. This is the first occasion since I have met you that I have seen your bare feet."

"That is not a question. That is an observation. Whatever question you have, it would be better to ask, heh, if you wish an answer?"

Lucius sat on the edge of the bed. His stomach was suddenly tight.

"Today is your birthday," he said.

"Another observation."

"I have no gift for you. Or rather,  I do, but it has not arrived in the post yet."

"It is quite alright. I do not need gifts, Malfoy-from-England."

"What _do_ you need?" he ventured.

"An excellent question.” Ramone put his book down, after due consideration. "To which the answer is, truthfully...  Nothing. A most unsatisfactory answer from your perspective, I am sure, so... Would you like to try another?'

Lucius' stomach was not the only thing that was tight now. His trousers were feeling it too. There had been no further discussion of any potential physical relationship between the two of them in the months after the fall and Ramone's revelation of his past, though every now and again he had caught the other boy looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he changed clothes, or as he bent to pick an item he had dropped, or as he emerged, decently clad, if damp, from the shower... True to his word though, he had kept his observations to himself and refrained completely from even the slightest hint of his own.

"What would you like?" he tried. He felt the dark eyes on him again.

"I would like you to come sit here with me," Ramone said at last. Lucius rose immediately and crossed the few feet between them as the other boy sat up, swinging his legs over so that they were sitting side by side. Beneath the vivid scarlet cuff of his right sleeve, the silver bangle shaped as a snake glimmered softly.

"This is nice, heh?" Ramone said encouragingly, first nudging his shoulder in a friendly manner and then putting an arm around him. He did not seem nervous at all, Lucius thought.

"Yes," he said, and cleared his throat. "Yes. It is."

" _Sim_ ," his room-mate corrected.

"I... I am sorry?"

"Not ‘yes';  _sim_. You are in Brazil now, Malfoy-from-England. You have been here for over four months, heh, and your command of our language leaves considerably to be desired yet."

"Ah," Lucius said, and experimentally, and in completely appalling accents - " _Desculpe-me_."

" _De nada_. Perhaps I should offer you lessons?"

"I am feeling educated enough for one day, thank you."

"Uh?"

"I will explain later. I do not understand it myself, really, or what it all means. There is something, I know, so I must think, and when I have processed the implications, I will..."

Ramone leaned in, cutting him off with a swift, clumsy kiss... And as Lucius raised his hands automatically to balance them both, he realized that, however nonchalant his demeanor, the other boy was trembling violently. He pulled back a bit, not withdrawing, but resting his forehead against Ramone's own as he closed his eyes.

 _True positive emotion, true happiness... It is always a little compromised here. We cannot separate our sorrows from our joys the way others in other, more innocent, blissfully ignorant and gullible lands do, chemically or otherwise. And so when we achieve it, or are offered it... We do not let go there without a fight. It is why it is so hard to erase Magicals here, from the mind of other Magicals who love them. When the world betrays you so constantly, when the very land you inhabit rapes and kills you so very thoroughly every moment... There are only two sources of absolute joy: God, and those who stand beside you and suffer with you. And those who stand with you may be lost, but we in South and Central America,_ Senhor _Malfoy... We never let them go. If the Evil One himself cannot take them from us, no mere shadow can hope to accomplish it._

" _Por favor_ , Carriera," he whispered. Ramone closed his own eyes and tilted his head again. The kiss was slower, deeper, and (once they got their tongues sorted out) completely breathtaking. This time when they pulled apart, they were both shaking.

"What would you like," Lucius said again. "Carriera-from-Brazil?"

"I do not know," Carriera-from-Brazil said. "Though again... I think that is the wrong question. And this time, it is my question to ask, not yours."

"Alright."

"You are wearing pajamas, Malfoy-from-England."

Lucius pulled back and looked at him, and down at himself.

"That is an observation," he noted. "Not a question."

" _Muito bueno_. Very good," Ramone congratulated him. "How should I then rephrase this observation in the appropriate interrogative?"

"Um.... ‘Why are you wearing pajamas, Malfoy-from-England?’"

Ramone raised an eyebrow at him. Lucius waited, then jumped.

"Oh. I suppose because it is time for bed, and it is traditional to wear pajamas _to_ bed?"

"You have a truly appalling grasp of rhetoric, my Luz. It is also very obvious that you did not grow up in the tropics. Pajamas here are far more the exception than the rule. Take them off."

Lucius' gut didn't just twist, but knotted. He stood, returning to sit on the edge of his own bed, and watching his own hand as it unbuttoned the shirt. Ramone watched him carefully as he shrugged it off, not moving an inch. Without standing, with a minimum of movement, Lucius tugged off his pajama trousers. He set them aside, along with the shirt, and sat, naked, staring at the floor - and at the dark bare feet, crossing the few steps between them. The bed sank slightly. He did not lift his eyes.

"You will do what I say," Ramone said softly. "And only what I say, do you understand me, my Luz?"

"Yes, Carriera."

"Lie back."

He lay back. Dark, warm fingers trailed lightly over his chest, resting flat over his heart. In spite of himself,  he couldn’t help but reach up and cover them with his own. Ramone said nothing, just turned  it, and raised it, and kissed the palm... He slid in beside him, propped on his elbow, still fully clothed, and reached down and pulled the sheet over them.

'Go to sleep," he said.

"Um. What?"

"Go to sleep." He pulled the pillow under his own head, closing his eyes. Lucius propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at him, exasperated. Behind his closed lids, Ramone smirked up at him.

"Fine." Lucius flopped back. "I will go to sleep. But I would like to state for the record, Ramone Carriera, that you are a dreadful tease."

"So nice. I am not a dreadful tease. I am an excellent tease." He rolled onto his side and leaned over him and kissed him again. Lucius exhaled against his lips, opened his mouth to him - and bucked violently as, under the sheet, fingers trailed over his bare cock. He felt the snake about Ramone's wrist slither off, and up, and around, and bucked again as the coils tightened in their not-quite-painful-but-not-quite-not blissful manner.

"Ahhhhh..."

"Lie still, my Luz," Ramone whispered against his lips. "Lie still, now. And remember... If you have questions for me, or requests for that matter, it is best to ask..."

* * *

 

**The Conference Chambers**

**Malfoy Manor**

**Thursday, November 27th, 1991**

**12.00 A.M.**

"I have a question," Sirius Black said loudly to Fudge into the stunned silence that followed. "Are you actually working for the cabals then, or have they only got something on you, that you're covering their arses?"

"Mr. Black..."

"That's _Professor_ Black to you, _Minister._  Only the full moon is tomorrow _night_ , yeah _,_ and with what we all know is coming - that those buggery fucks don’t plan to leave a single kid standing in revenge for us taking down Greyback’s pack in Edinburgh -  I can't think of one other reason, not _one_ , why you'd be spewing such goddamn cowardly _shit_ from your fat, smug face just at this moment. You also can't possibly, _possibly_ believe that you didn't just end your career with those words, because if you do - if you really _mean_  them - I'm informing you right now, _r_ _ight_ now... That I'll put in the petition for your impeachment and run myself before I'll see you sit another day in office!"

"I'd vote for him," Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs said judiciously as a tidal wave of roaring cheers rose. "Wouldn't you, Nissie? I mean, he's your cousin, and I'm your best friend and Draco's godmother besides, however unofficially, and Draco's his blood heir. Righteous moral outrage aside, I'd feel nothing short of obliged to support his campaign."

"Your concerns and your suspicions are both valid, Mr. Black." Fudge’s voice rose on the Sonorus again. "Under these circumstances, and I do not condemn you for the latter, but there are appropriate protocols here, and..."

"Appropriate _protocols_?" Arthur Weasley repeated, incensed. " _Appropriate protocols?_ These are _children_ , Fudge! There's only one kind of _appropriate protocol_ here _;_ we go in and we get them out and then we lay fucking _waste!"_

" - and while I am certainly willing to suspend certain of them given sufficient evidence, we yet _have_ no evidence of committed crimes beyond Mr. Malfoy's word! We are not questioning his good intentions," Fudge shouted as the roars of protest sounded again. "But all gathered intelligence here, while accurate in terms of geography and whatnot, I'm sure, is not _proof_!"

" _Geography_ and whatnot?" a young and furious feminine voice shouted back. " _Geography_ and whatnot? Only they all had their bloody _try-outs_ this last week, you great git, and even if they really are such upstanding good citizens and Uncle Luke's source was mistaken, don't you think they'd be the first to say 'no problem, with everything at stake we understand that you need to be _sure_?" Nymphadora Tonks' spiked short hair was a bristling, iridescent neon purple; her face matching the shade exactly as she pushed her way through the ranks. "Never mind that you have no right, _no legal right_ to demand that _anyone_ reveal their sources! _None_! That's the law too, you enormous pillock, as is your responsibility to investigate any leads! Tell him, Mum!" she appealed to the tight-lipped Andromeda. "You're a bloody lawyer, aren't you? _Tell_ him!"

"I am," Andromeda Black Tonks concurred as every eye turned her way. "I'm also related to the man in question by marriage, Nymphadora, so some might see it as conflict of interest."

"Do _not_ call me _Nymphadora_. Also, invalid premise. We're all related; everyone here is, one way or the other. We're _Blacks_ ; we know that better than anyone! We even," she said, the glare targeting Fudge not just poisonous now, but acidic, "have _proof_. You'll have to ignore the holes on the family's Ministry-registered self-updating genealogical tapestry, but they're generally only aimed at the faces, not the names underneath, so it's all right there yet."

"Point," Andromeda conceded again. "Or rather, points. Very well. You have no legal right to demand anyone reveal their sources, Minister Fudge, and Mr. Malfoy's perfectly legal refusal to do so in no way negates your responsibility to actively investigate all leads, particularly on matters such as this and considering what's at stake, in a timely, discreet and expedient a manner as prudence dictates. That being said, that clause that allows for emergency executive orders in times of national crisis was instituted for a reason. A declared verbal dispensation for a nation-wide search warrant, inarguable by all resident citizens in times of terrorism and war, would cover all contingencies. Would there be a problem there, Amelia?' she addressed her closest friend. "I believe that in such circumstances, the word of the Director of Great Britain's Department of Magical Law Enforcement overrides all others, particularly when backed by the Head of Great Britain's Auror Department and _again_ particularly in the face of such sheer and established bloody buggering _incompetence_ on the part of the elected Minister, displayed not just tonight, but over the last month as a whole to the world at large."

"On the other hand," Namirembe murmured to Narcissa. "A thorough knowledge of the law is an excellent, excellent quality in a Minister. I mean, there's always the resemblance to your dear departed whackjob of a mutual sister that might affect things, but she _is_ married to a Muggleborn. It'd all cancel out, with maybe even enough credit left there from having a daughter as an Auror to tip things on the side of the positive."

" _Thank_ you!" Tonks glared at Fudge triumphantly. "Never bloody mind that he..." She jerked her head in the direction of the impassive Lucius. "Is obviously keeping his mouth shut, not because he has something to _hide_ , but because anyone revealed as his source would be as dead, one way or the other, as those lot of kids are going to be if you don't man up - no, _human_ up - and do your proper buggering _job_! He's _protecting_ whoever it is, and this way, the only arse on that particular line is his own!"

"And this is why she's my favourite," Mad-Eye told Amelia Bones. "No flies on _her._ Are you convinced yet, you great infected knob," he addressed Fudge loudly. "Or is Black there right after all, and you've got some horse in the race you're not telling us about? You've got no kids, so we know it's not that, at least."

"Am I missing something here?" Neil asked Minerva McGonagall in an undertone, his brow furrowed. "I mean, our version of Fudge was dumb as a bucket of rocks, but he still had that sense of political self-preservation to be going on with. Not to put too fine a point on it, but he should _know_ he's hexing his own bollocks here, never mind that they were all conferencing in the back long enough for Bones and Moody to point out all the possibilities should he keep on with his arguments. What's he trying to do, exactly?"

"Save his own sorry hide," Remus said grimly. "His career was over the moment Malfoy made that call to Bones; the issue considered, he knows he'd be lynched if he didn't go in himself instead of just sitting back and organizing from the safety of his bloody office, but he's an adequate duelist at best, so kids or not, he's not about to go _there_. That means the only chance he thinks he's got left is to divert and somehow make it all about Malfoy and Riddle. It won't work; it can't - not even his closest cronies would be willing to give him the benefit of the prudent doubt there, the issue considered again - but he's not thinking long term, or even two days from now. He's thinking one minute, one hour at a time at the most, and he's got nothing to work with on Malfoy anyway, not when it comes right down to it."

"You think so, do you?" another voice said. They turned, startled. A tall, thin, altogether disreputable figure in grotty, ale-stained robes was standing there, the odor of goat-dung emanating from every pore. He smiled sourly at them all from behind his gnarled beard. "Where's your grandson again, Headmaster?" he inquired of Neil. "Don't see him about here anywhere. Bloke like him: defender of all mankind, great bloody hero, saviour of the world, reputation beyond reproach... You'd think he'd be right in on a fight like this, hey? Instead, word's out that he's gone off on his honeymoon -a  honeymoon conveniently sponsored by Malfoy, with ascertained proof of a certain last minute booked portkey to Romania."

"Portkey to..." McGonagall exchanged looks with Remus. His lips tightened. "And how would you know about something like that, Aberforth Dumbledore?"

"Was visiting my poor wee brother down the clink, just this morning," Aberforth Dumbledore said laconically. "Wandered down to the canteen for a cuppa after, and happened to fall in queue behind one of the junior jobs from the Portkey Office, down the Department of Magical Transportation. Gabbling away on just this subject, he was; fancy that for a coincidence, and it was pretty obvious to him too, who the knut was put out for, even if the names of the travelers are left off the forms to be filled on departure. Young Weasley being a wrangler and all, never mind the family connection through the Horntails? Charged to the Malfoy accounts, and with tea scheduled this afternoon and the first exchange of prezzies under proposition of Solace?" He slugged back whiskey from a flask in his wrinkled, spotted hand. "Far be it from me to judge, but it seems a bit lacking in priority on your boy's part, Headmaster, the issues considered and all. Unnaturally lacking, even. He'd had to have known that he'd be dead useful in a situation like this, and could have acted as a damned fine reference for the man's ultimate motives besides. All that, and it might put the certain suspicious type in mind that maybe, just maybe, Malfoy never told him what was going down at all."

"Was the portkey activated?" Sirius demanded.

"As a matter of fact, it was. Six p.m. local time, right on the dot." His words were slightly slurred now, though his blue eyes were sharp behind his thick grey eyebrows. "What would you reckon Fudgie-boy makes of the taste of _them_ little green apples, Professor Black?"

"I am merely saying," Fudge amped up his Sonorus several notches. "That the Ministry's insistence on identifying the original source of these claims of Mr. Malfoy's is not merely relevant to proposed future events, but those that have already taken place.  I am loath to say it, but it must be said... The question of the identity of Mr. Malfoy's sources aside, we cannot afford to ignore the implications of the fact that those anonymous sources reportedly chose to confide in the particular man."

"Aaand there it is," Dumbledore said. "Called it. Then again... I do tend to do that."

"Here we go," Namirembe muttered, across the room. "Stiff upper lip and all that rot, Nissikins. He's got something to be going on with; he has to. He didn't survive ten years as a neo-Sith Lord just to be taken down by the likes of Carnelion Fudgenuts."

Narcissa said nothing, just straightened her narrow shoulders and walked across the floor to Lucius' side. They didn't look at each other, but his hand slipped into hers as desperately and easily as his counterpart's had in a long-ago, far-away memory of another meeting in the same room, at another council of war where the man known as Lucius Malfoy had made so many different choices that had led him so disastrously astray.

"Fact," Lucius said. "Does not affect the truth, Minister. Are you saying now, as truth, if not as verbalized fact, that the Ministry is - that _you_ are - willing to take responsibility for the lives of the one hundred twenty children now in residence at the four training schools - and those are only the new recruits gathered up again this week, never mind the incumbents - should my source, however anonymous, be proven right?"

"There are _protocols_ to be followed here, Mr. Malfoy!”

"What the sodding fuck is _wrong_ with you, man?" Arthur Weasley roared furiously. "I vote we kick him out right now," he addressed the crowd. "We can get an emergency override for that, can't we, Andromeda, since this does constitute war by any standard, and the interim next-in-line is right here besides?"

"We can," Andromeda conceded. "All things considered, though as the Head of the DMLE is both the interim next-in-line and the individual who provides the override in times of war, it's a bit tricky.'

'We only need her for the one night," Moody pointed out. "And she can retire in the morning, with all of us here as witness to her oath there, and we'll appoint someone else till an election can be called.'

"Alternatively," Amelia Bones said coolly. 'Any one of you could propose the nomination of someone else as my proxy straight up, in order to avoid conflict of interest. As the Head of the DMLE, I would approve the motion, and nominations could then be made on particular individuals. Once approved, a third motion might be put forth to impeach the current Minister, and place the selected candidate in his stead. First, though... Head Auror Moody, do you agree with my assessment as Head of the DMLE that the security and physical safety of Great Britain's citizens is at vital stake at this particular hour in time, and that the implementation of a non-arguable search warrant for all locations across Great Britain toward the end of on-site collecting and gathering of information and detainment of suspected terrorists, both domestic and otherwise, is an appropriate and prudent response?"

"Abso-sodding- _lutely_ ," Moody said with relish. "And do you, Director of Great Britain's DMLE Bones, reckon along with me as Head Auror of Great Britain that the continued leadership of this great arse-up here constitutes a vital threat to Great Britain's most vulnerable citizens, that being the kiddies, and agree with my opinion that he needs to be binned right here and now?"

"Hold that thought. First things first: under these sad circumstances, I hereby, as Head of the DMLE, and with the backing of Head Auror Moody, do declare Great Britain at war with they who shall now be known as the Feral Collective. Given the nature and sensitivity of the immediate threat, I am declaring that this notification of war is officially classified on the highest levels, and that anyone here who pops off and shoots their mouths to anyone who _isn't_ here before things are resolved shall be arrested and charged with high treason, and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. And that being said… Yes, Head Auror Moody. I am, in fact, in complete agreement with your assessment that the currently elected Minister of Magic is a great arse-up on both the personal and professional levels, and that as he has stated that he is, by his own admission, completely unwilling to deal with the current crisis in the prudent and timely manner, he does, indeed, need tossing.”

"Brilliant," Moody proclaimed. "Conscription of all present as members of the National and Consulting Martial Counsel, entitled to present and propose and submit votes on all relevant and concerning subjects?"

"Suggested, seconded and carried. Alright, people. I'm opening the floor for discussion of particulars of immediate priority. One at a time, please, and make it short and sweet. We're running a literal deadline here, mm?"

" _All_ people who aren't here?" Fudge said pleasantly, and... Not. He did not, every eye narrowing in on him now noticed, look nearly as concerned as he should over the particular turn of events.

"Called it again," Aberforth Dumbledore observed, and craned his neck at Remus. "Nice sword!  Overcompensating, is he, Black?"

"What are you going on about now," Tonks called impatiently to Fudge.

"I merely want to know if the qualification on informing all individuals not here at this particular moment eliminates the possibility of appointing new members," Fudge explained. "I can think of at least one who might make an admirable addition to the Council, never mind an asset to all practical implementations of that national search warrant. As he's not onsite at the moment, an exception would have to be made."

“I think I’m insulted,” Obonyo-Higgs sniffed. “Really. Unsurprised, the source considered, but insulted. He hasn’t beat me yet, you know?”

"Mountains aren’t particularly selective on their targets, Nami.” Her husband, Warren Higgs - a wiry, nearly cadaverous man quite nearly as long and pale as Lucius - appeared, snaking an arm around her waist. “A police box or two to stow the sprogs while you do your thing might not be a bad idea, and if he does get a shot or two in, you’ll be able to get your preview besides.”

She sighed, martyred.

“You do have a point there, though,” Warren Higgs conceded. “You don’t think an International Dueling Master, forty Aurors, forty more armed and motivated combat-experienced civilians, and a giant feral killer Kodiak are enough to take care of business, Fudge, never mind the on-calls we’ve got standing by from the Welsh, Scottish, English and Irish Local Auror Reserves? Only don’t take this the wrong way, but I, for one, am a bit affronted at the thought that you don’t think enough of our own people to do the proper job. It’s not as if we don’t have motivation, you know, and the man in question's on his honeymoon besides. I reckon we could manage without him if we really put our backs into it, don’t you?”

“Master-Adept Cartwright - “

“ _Weasley_ -Cartwright,” Arthur corrected.

“Weasley-Cartwright; thank you, Arthur, you’ve just proved my point - _is_ one of our own people, Mr. Higgs.  He is a British citizen, married to a British citizen, and as such, the Ministry has every right to call on him to serve his country as needed.”

A queer silence descended.

“Every… right,” Lucius Malfoy repeated. “Every _right,_ did you say?”

“I did. I’m still Minister; no one’s put forth the motion to impeach me yet, and if the last act in office that I officially perform is to call on the particular individual who is best suited to…”

“Save your arse?” Sirius jeered.  “You got your position queued up on his team already, whichever one it is, so that you can hide behind him?”

“Save our _children,_ ” Fudge continued doggedly. “Than call on him I shall. Moody, we know where he is; the portkey to Romania was activated. Send one of your men through to inform the Master-Adept of his obligations.”

“You great ruddy…”

“There’s a little problem there, Minister.” Neil cut off the History of Magic professor. “Ren’s not just a British citizen; he’s an American citizen, and as he’s currently on foreign soil, you can’t just reach out and grab him. Not legally, not without letting both the American and Romanian governments know that we’re at war, and I’m  pretty sure that that goes against Director Bones’ dictate on how this entire mission is classified.”

“There’s no need to inform anyone of the current situation aside from the individual in question! Your grandson is an International Warder, Mr. Cartwright!” Fudge snapped. “He is a moral, if not legal, world citizen, and is, by his own stated oath, obliged to answer any summons of any of the leaders of any of the countries registered as participating members in good standing of the International Confederation of Wizards!”

The protesting, infuriated cacophony that rose at that was quite enough to shake the marble pillars of the conference room. Narcissa Black Malfoy looked up at her husband, standing beside her, hands in his pockets and looking quietly at the sweating, mottled  face of the man before him. Fudge glared back at him: defiantly, fearfully, angrily. Arthur Weasley caught sight of them mid-tirade and stopped in his verbal tracks… As he did so, the Auror beside him noted his abrupt silence, and followed his gaze, and cut himself off as well… One by one by one, each adjacent individual followed suit, till every eye was fixed on the tableau before them, and every voice in the huge room silenced.

“Obliged,” Lucius Malfoy repeated softly again.

"Yes, _obliged!"_ Fudge blustered, and again... “He's an International _Warder!_ It's his _duty_ , it's...."

He trailed off, openly unnerved at the impassive expression on the face of the man looking down at him… Impassive, but not emotionless. The wave of profound, weary sorrow that flooded the ice-pale features was only there for a split second before it was replaced in turn by a kind of remote, soft pity.

“Minister,” Lucius Malfoy said. “Do you know why, exactly, you are standing here _as_ Minister right now?”

Beside her husband, Narcissa Black Malfoy closed her eyes… And in her memory, as clearly as if it _were_  her own memory, a door opened, revealing the form of a tall, gangly boy standing in a second doorway to the left,  and a modestly sized,  bright bedroom between them. A second boy, very nearly as dark as the first was pale, sat at one of two small desks, leaning in concentration over an immaculate sheet of parchment. The floor about him was littered with stacks of books, carelessly tossed clothing, and random items that only two teenaged boys would be able to identify.

And throughout all, over all, there was not a single shadow, only shifting, shining patterns of light.

* * *

 

**_Castelobruxo School_ **

**_One Week after the Easter Break_ **

**_April 19, 1971_ **

_Lucius emerged, visibly disgruntled, from the loo, wand in his hand as he tugged at a long strand of ice-blond hair. Said hair had reverted to Malfoy Standard four full days ago, appeared suddenly regrown overnight when he woke, and, despite all effort, suggestions, furthered attempts and frustrated cursing, it was still stubbornly refusing to be shortened._

_It was, Silva had informed him, the first, long-anticipated visible indication of his successful progression as an Animagus. He should have been pleased, Lucius knew. He_ was _pleased, though not at the annoying particulars, especially since it meant that he’d  finally been permitted to spit out the bloody mandrake leaf that had been magically stuck to the roof of his mouth since the middle of March. It was a small leaf, and not particularly troublesome in that hourly breath-freshening charms took care of the worst of the associated taste, but the intermittent bursts of feral drooling had been quite embarrassing. It did not help at all that at least thirty percent of all candidates had the same issue either, though it certainly did explain why there were so few British candidates that ever attempted the process. It was simply not_ dignified.

_"No luck?" Ramone inquired brightly of him._

_"Your powers of observation are simply remarkable, Carriera." Lucius dropped, sulky-faced, in his chair. "I do not_ want _it back! I cut it for a reason!"_

_"You would have had to regrow it before your return to England anyway," Ramone pointed out. "It is not so bad, truly. I had forgotten how pretty it is like this, heh?"_

_"Oh, shut up."_

_"So nice. Is that how_ Tio _is raising you?"_

 _"Do not talk to me on your bloody_ Tio _. He laughed himself sick when he saw it. He_ knows, _Carriera! He knows, and he will not tell me. It is my Animagus form, I have the right to know!" He pushed the pale mass back and craned his neck... His room-mate was seated at his desk, a neat stack of parchment to his right as he inked a precise sketch of an odd-looking flower on the final sheet before him. As Lucius watched, he transfigured the tip of the quill to that of a self-colouring water-color brush, and began to paint in the details in delicate, tiny strokes. The result was nothing short of a work of art.  "Are you not finished that bloody assignment yet? It is due at midnight, and you have had two months to work on it!”_

_"It is, I have, and as it is only ten-fifteen, I am in quite good time. I do not achieve my perfect grades by ignoring deadlines,  Malfoy-from-England, and our professor, as a Master Herbologist, appreciates  beauty and the finer details besides. She also completely despises marking papers, so I have been expending the extra time and effort to make the perusal of mine, at least, as pleasant and aesthetic an experience as possible, heh?" He transfigured the quill back to his wand and tapped the last, lovely little sketch. Neat labels appeared, accompanied by shimmering music and a waft of fragrant petals. "There. Now I am finished. She will open the scroll - she appreciates parchment, unlike the rest of the heathens in this country - and the scent will rise to meet her, as will the music that she plays for her plants in her private greenhouse. Between those things, my legible handwriting, and, of course, my concise and accurate content..." He rolled the collected sheets tidily. A slender length of tendrilled vine, rather than ribbon, secured the lot... He tucked a single vivid fuchsia and orange blossom, magically  preserved, beneath the vine, and applied three drops of wax from his wand as a final seal. The drops reformed as they touched the parchment, molding themselves  into a tiny blue frog, complete with gold-splashed throat._

_"Professora Esperanza Hurtado," he directed.  The scroll flashed out._ "Bueno." _He stood and stretched luxuriously. "A job well done. Now. How should I be rewarded for my good efforts?"_

_"What, hard work and better results are not their own reward?"_

_Ramone just vaulted onto his bed, magically discarding his clothes as he reclined and blinked his long lashes coyly, patting the space beside him. Lucius grinned and joined him with alacrity. Lips met and hands were roving before he was barely settled... Seconds later, he was flipped on his back and his pajamas were neatly disposed of.  A hot, lush mouth murmured and roamed, pleased, down and down and down again... He bucked and moaned violently._

_"Ohhhhhhh Carriera... Please, please,_ please! _"_

 _"You beg so prettily, Malfoy-from-England," Ramone murmured. His room-mate's therapeutic progress over the last three months, the young Englishman thought blissfully as he gasped and gasped again, had been absolutely_ astonishing _. There was yet, as there had been from their first slow, tentative and careful hour of strictly dictated, one-sided experimentation, the unspoken understanding that said therapy would only go so far, but within those limits... "Shall we exchange our mutual compliments, then?"_

_"Yes," he managed. "Please."_

_"Mm." Ramone swung about, reinforcing the already quite formidable silence wards around their room as he did so. Less than three minutes later..._

"Nossa Senhora," _the young Brazilian moaned as he lay limply and gasped for heaving breath. "That was just…_ Mmm."

_"Mmm," Lucius agreed, swinging around in his own turn to lie beside him once more. He rested his head on the thin brown shoulder. The gold cross glimmered between the sharp collarbones; he turned it idly in his fingers... Ramone shifted him a bit, tucking his re-grown hair behind his ears. It arranged itself into a neat, orderly braid._

_"What are you thinking, my Luz?" he asked. "You have been unusually quiet since we returned from the holiday. Were the lessons that_ Tio _provided you while you two were away this time that painful?"_

_"No, no. Not at all. Intense yes. Difficult, yes. Painful... No."_

_"May I ask?"_

_"We studied strategy every other day. He has been advising me a great deal on how to manage the particulars of certain ongoing moral dilemmas that will arise in my future, as well as the people associated with them. There are several in particular that will require extremely careful  handling if I am not to lose my moral way."_

_Ramone traced his ear. Lucius had told him very little of what he was going to be expected to do in the coming years, but that didn't mean he had no ideas. His imagination, after all, as he was proving regularly these days, was quite dizzyingly creative, even given the limits of what he had to work with._

_"And on the days you did not study strategy?" he asked. "What did you do then?"_

_"We traveled," Lucius said. "Or rather... We moved. Constantly, in all and random directions."_

_"Uh?"_

_For a long moment, Lucius hesitated - not in reluctance, but as if searching for the right words - then rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Ramone waited._

_"The jungle has four levels," the paler boy said. "Your uncle told me that the first hour we met. Each is its own world, with its own distinct dangers and beauties. Worlds upon worlds,  spun out from the center of all things, but who knows where the center  is, really, when you are dealing with such a chronically mobile and shifting environment, and when you yourself are forced to shift with it in order to survive? The center, when you do not know where you are or where you will find yourself, must, then, be carried within yourself. It is the only way, the only way, to survive. It will be, always and otherwise, as it is in the line of the poem he showed me... Vulnerable. 'The center cannot hold.'_

_Ramone listened carefully. His room-mate's philosophical musings, he had learned, were as his uncle's every action: always relevant, if occasionally bemusing and apparently random._

_"We traveled," Lucius said again. "We moved, in all directions, through all the worlds. And I was blinded throughout."_

_"_ What?"

_"He offered me a potion at the beginning of each day that blinded me, and another at sunset that renewed my ability to see. And in the hours between... We traveled. We moved. He guided me, he was with me always, as I learned to rely on him and on my other senses."_

_"He is crazy," Ramone said with utter conviction. "I do not care if he was always with you. He is completely crazy. And you were crazy to allow it."_

_Lucius laughed. "I am yet here," he reminded him. "And I learned a great deal."_

_"On what? On how crazy my uncle is? On how crazy_ you _are?"_

 _"No. On metaphors, and the importance of situational and personal awareness, and on identifying my own strengths and weaknesses, and identifying and maintaining my hold on my own center as I shift and am shifted. I will be living on so many levels - as different people, even - when I return, all paths and identities spinning and intertwined, entangled, conjoined... It will be very difficult, not knowing where one path leads off and begins. Difficult, and easy to get lost, and to lose myself. And as I must travel all of those paths in darkness, by instinct, lest I be revealed... At first I thought I was learning so that I might learn to find my way back to my center again, by instinct, after my travels, so all may hold. So that_ I _may hold. But that was not the point of the lessons at all."_

_Ramone turned his head to look at him._

_"There is only one way," Lucius mused. "To maintain the center within. Not to seek out a source of light that may illuminate the many paths you travel, so that you may find your way back... Not to bring, or carry light with you in preparations for your wanderings... If one defines oneself as something that seeks light, after all, that searches for it, that holds it... That is to define yourself as something other than light. A potential shadow. But if you become the light, if you carry your center with you... If it is what you_ are _; if light is_ all _that you are, all of_ who _you are... You cannot be lost in the shadows, for the shadows come to you.  That is the nature of shadow and darkness, they will seek to define themselves by you, because that is what shadows do. So despite the tangle, you do not have to wander at all. You just be patient and still, and all that is needed will be naturally drawn to you."_

_Ramone smiled a little, at him and to himself, and wound a loose tendril of long, fine silky hair through his fingers. Lucius smiled up at him in return._

_"Summation?" the young Brazilian asked._

_"I will not have to fear losing myself in the darkness, or of losing light, if I_ am _the light. And I will not have to worry on losing my moral center either, for at the center of all things surrounding, no matter the direction I move, is a small room, and in the room, touched by none, seen by none, sensed by none, but yet there... There, whether the shadows realize it or not, seeing all, from all directions from the centre, always, if I make, again, myself my center.. Affecting all, just by being what it I am, in patience and silence, and however unacknowledged and denied... is Luz."_

_Ramone offered him a another small smile._

_"A very valuable lesson," he said._

_"Mm. But not the only one."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Shadows are attracted to the light," Lucius said again. "They shirk it, but at the same time, they are attracted to it. Drawn to it. They define themselves, and are defined by it. That is the nature of shadows. Even as they are drawn to it, though, they close their eyes on it. Turn their backs to it. Deny it. That too is their nature. So all I have to do is be what I am - Luz - and be patient... And all of the shadows in my future will not only come to me, saving me the trouble and danger of going wandering among them at all, as I have said... Bur they will come to me, eyes closed and back first, while attempting to convince themselves that I am ultimately irrelevant. And they will back themselves right into the room with the always-open door, where they sense my presence - and they will find themselves backed and impaled on my waiting knife."_

_Ramone propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at him._

_"You are quite frightening, Malfoy-from-England," he said finally. "Did you know that?"_

_"The imagery and metaphor is quite nice," Lucius said judiciously. "That is how the shadows prefer to define light: as imagery and metaphor. But when it comes down to it... We do not inhabit a world of imagery and metaphor, do we, and they will find not an image or metaphor waiting. So as long as I remain patient, and watchful... At the right moment, if I do not seek to orchestrate, to manipulate... When the moment is right, I will not have to lift a finger. The shadows will come to me,  because that is their nature, back first and eyes closed, as is too their nature, and will thus bring their own destruction upon themselves."_

*

"Minister," Lucius said to Fudge. "Do you know why, exactly, you are standing here _as_ Minister right now?"

Fudge looked stuffed.

"You are standing here because you were elected to the position," Lucius said exactingly. "By the people of Great Britain. By the citizens of Great Britain that survived Riddle's war. Do you understand how it was that Great Britain survived Riddle's war, Minister?"

No one moved.

"Great Britain survived Riddle's war," Lucius Malfoy said. "Not because of Harry Potter... Not because of Lily Potter…. But because there were people left afterwards to go on. Quite a disproportionate number of people, actually, all things considered. Frank Longbottom and I had to work quite hard together during that war to ensure that that disproportionate number was as high as it is."

No one breathed.

"Do you know why I was working with Frank Longbottom to save that disproportionate number of people?" Lucius asked the man before him. "Why, at sixteen years old, I was as determined as I was to do everything necessary, and I do mean _everything_ necessary, to bring Tom Riddle down?"

A slight gurgle sounded from Fudge's throat.

"It was because I fell in love with a boy," the man before him said. "On my exchange year in Castelobruxo. Quite the most brilliant, beautiful, talented, sweet and purely lovable boy that was ever born on any continent. And the week before I returned to England from Castelobruxo, that boy threw himself into the embrace of a lethifold to save my life."

The gurgle stopped abruptly.

*

"He was a native Brazilian," Lucius said. "There is not one child of Brazil who has not lost a family member to the lethifolds. He was no exception. He'd lost all of his but one. Grandparents, mother, father, cousins, aunts, uncles... All of them. By the time he was eleven years old, he'd lost every one of them but the one uncle. So he knew what he was doing. He didn't trip, or fall, or stumble; he deliberately, deliberately, offered up his life to his greatest nightmare to preserve mine. I am alive today because of that boy. _Every single choice I have ever made since_ has been made in honour of his sacrifice for me. The people who voted you in, Minister - a good third of them, at least, I would estimate, and I do not have to estimate because Frank Longbottom and I _made it happen_ \- are alive because of that boy's sacrifice. Europe stands because of that boy. Great Britain stands because of that boy. _England_ stands because of that boy. England stands because Brazil did not step back and look away when England was vitally threatened. England _stands_ , Minister, because when England was in vital danger, Brazil did not turn around and pretend that England did not have a _problem_."

Narcissa stood, her slim fingers white and clutching his, her sea green eyes shining and burning behind her tears.

"You stand here now, before England," Lucius Malfoy said softly. "You dare stand here now after stepping back, after looking away, after turning around,  after pretending that Brazil had no problem, all while its children were dying, being _eaten alive_ , being erased as if they never _existed_ \- to demand that their bereaved step forward and save _us_?" He held up his hand as Fudge opened his mouth to protest. "Lawrence Weasley-Cartwright may be an International Warder, Minister. He may be an American citizen, and a citizen of Great Britain. Right now, though... He _is_ Brazil. He is Venezuela. He is Colombia. He is Peru, Paraguay, Suriname, Guyana, Argentina, Costa Rica, Ecuador... _He is the only person on this planet_ , Minister, who came forward when they all called for help on behalf of their children, and said 'I offer my life for you'. Oh, not his physical life. His gifts, his talents, his inclinations... His active and pro-active _remembrances_. Do you really think he designed that fence in one day? That fence can only be the result of years of research, study, trial, error, sweat, blood, tears, pain, loss, and unconditional, absolutely unconditional, love. The timing of its installation... The conditions of its installation... Boggle the mind in their improbability, but there it is. There he is. There he was. And here _we_ are, and you dare, _dare,_ to try to order him, to order Brazil, Venezuela, Colombia - again - to fight our war? To take your orders, so that England will not have to suffer the consequences of its own obligations, _Minister_ , and put its own life on the line to save its own children? You are truly, _truly_ , after everything that has happened in this last week, ready to say to South America, Central America and the Pacific Islands that _they_ yet have the _moral_ _obligation_ to recognize and solve _our_ problems?"

Fudge sweated heavily, his face pale. Lucius Malfoy reached out and tore the Order of Merlin off his robes and tossed it in the bin.

"You are no hero," he said. A whip no more, his voice rang precisely: a rich clarion bell. "A hero is a man who not only honours his duty when given the opportunity and means to perform it, but seeks out ways to honour that duty when God Himself tells him that it is impossible.  A hero is a man who rejects all unholy arrogance and pride, and who would - could - never  _fathom_ calling on others to act as his sword and shield, because he is _their_ sword and shield. These citizens who elected you and came when called on tonight are heroes. You.. You are not even their enemy. You are empty. You would not even require a lethifold to eat your name and memory. You have discarded both yourself."

He slipped his left-hand wand out of its holster on its hip, pointing it at the bin and murmuring the incantation to Vanish the contents... It took a moment for the implications to process.

"You fight two-handed?" Moody demanded, flabbergasted. "Since when?"

"Since I was sixteen, and trained to do so at Castelobruxo. It was a very educational ye..." Lucius paused as he spotted two new arrivals in the doorway.  The first had soft, light brown hair topped by a perky, endearing cowlick, and a long scar that just touched the outer corner of his left, pierced eyebrow and skimmed his slightly quirked  lips... He stood square-shouldered and solidly as any veteran soldier, his feet braced and hands in the pockets of his cargo trousers while the second man - younger, shorter and stockier, cheerfully round-faced, with ginger-and-gold hair best described as a riot - lounged against the frame, glowing as if lit from within by  warm, ruddy fire and watching the proceedings with great interest as he nibbled on a half-wrapped Flake bar.

"Master-Adept!" Cornelius Fudge stammered, following Lucius’ gaze. "What... I mean... Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"That was the original plan, yes." Ren Weasley-Cartwright’s  voice was as calm, mild and husky as Lucius' was deep and ringing. "But then we heard England calling, and came to sign up." His eyes flicked the man over. "Not so much a shadow as a born jack-ass, I think. Do everyone a favour and resign before you're forced out?  I saw you at my exam: hundred-twenty against one, and even with the shield up and my word, I didn't see your wand out of its holster. Coward or incompetent, it doesn't matter, since either means you'd be nothing but a liability in any real battle."

He turned away as Fudge spluttered again, and, removing his hands from his pockets, strode toward the front, halting at parade rest and  bowing lightly to Lucius.

"Weasley-Cartwright reporting for duty, General," he said briskly. Every word carried to every corner. "At your service, all night long."

Jaws dropped. Lucius' lips twitched as he looked down at him.

"I suppose we could find a use for an individual of your qualifying talents," he conceded, not-quite-magnanimously.  “Would you say that you are capable of following orders effectively, Weasley-Cartwright, or do you prefer to lead?”

A snort of loud laughter - real, genuinely amused laughter - sounded from, of all directions, Severus Snape’s.

"Either-or, as the situation demands. That being said, I am on till-quite-very-recently unfamiliar terrain here in Great Britain. My resume aside, we'll probably want to take that into account, the essential skills may be broadly correlative, but that doesn't mean they're guaranteed to translate in specific context."

"Mm," Charlie agreed as every single individual present choked. "Best to just tell him what you want from him, Malfoy, at this point anyway. He won't be offended; he's a Warder, yeah, and when it comes down to it, they're all just in it for the happy endings."

Andromeda Tonks' guffaw rang out at that. Loudly. Narcissa had to turn her back hastily on the crowds, nominally to offer her sister a reproving look, but in actuality to hide her rampaging, red-faced giggles. Molly Weasley's expression was so mixed it might as well have been casserole. Arthur just rolled his eyes fondly and nicked a nibble of his son’s Flake bar.

"Very  well. You're with me, then," Lucius said. "Charles, you're with Narcissa's team. For heaven's sake, Alastor, would you put that thing away? We have battles to plan, and your active assistance would be much appreciated." Moody just held up a finger as he murmured into his adapted Muggle mobile phone.

"Alright," he was saying. "No, just put it on ice and I'll have a look in the morning. Yeah." He grunted. "Yeah. Me too. What can you do. No. Just follow the standard protocols. Yeah. You too." He tucked the phone away. "Sorry. Bloody rookies can't wipe their own arses without instructions written on the bog roll."

"Everything alright, Mad-Eye?" Tonks asked solicitously.

"No. It's not. My Monday fish and chips just got permanently cancelled. Borgin just found his niece's dead body on the floor of her kitchen when he went in to check on why she wasn't in for her shift at his shop."

"Erhm." Ren blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. That's Knockturn Alley for you. She could never afford proper wards, and with the regular break-ins for what bit of cash she kept on-site, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"She had proper wards," the Master-Adept said. "I set them myself, two days ago. She at the DMLE?"

"Yeah. Down the morgue."

"Be right back." Ren cracked out. Narcissa glanced at Charlie. He shrugged.

"No idea." He came to peer over her shoulder as he reached around her to pick up a miniaturized map. The dragon on his forearm winked at her slyly. She ignored it. "Where are we headed?"

"Anglesey. Calum King's territory. Key points: he's a native Nigerian who changed his name when he came to Great Britain after graduating from Uagadou where they specialize in three things: wandless magic, Animagery, and using wandless magic while in your Animagus form. Luke's reports are very clear there; all of his defenses are set to target wands first and their wizards after, so our team is comprised of members who can manage without the standard tools of the trade. You'll fit right in."

"Brilliant. How many of his people d'you reckon are Animagi themselves?'

"A more than reasonable number. He believes in sponsoring and hiring his fellow alumni." She pulled a spiral notebook over, licking her finger and turning pages rapidly. "Nami brought this with her. She's taught dueling seminars at the school there since she was twenty-five, and all of the professors are provided with lists of the students and their forms as they attain them. She's kept her own records of all those who have passed through her classes for her own purposes, she's had her eye on the Grandmastery since she was ten, and likes to keep track of her potential competition. When we cross-index them with the records on those to whom King has offered employment and sponsorship in terms of immigration since the incorporation of the Afancs and his alliance with Dorrie Carrow, we've got a fairly clear idea of who could be waiting for us."  She pointed a finger at a stack of papers; one shot out toward them. Charlie caught it neatly. "Twenty seven names, and now... No surprises. Not on our end, anyway."

"Luke pulled this all together _last night_? And all the information on the other three sites too?"

"Yes. There's a reason Riddle pegged him as his right-hand man at fifteen."

He shook his head and began to read, brow furrowed.

"This is brilliant," he said. "Christ. Alright." He leaned over again to examine the hovering citadel. "Where are Luke and Mate headed?"

"Newport. McNair's got a positive fortress there, but of the kind that requires a scalpel rather than the hammer. He's fond of his cursed booby traps and Dark creatures, so a Warder and DADA expert of Ren's level who can operate on the fly the way he does will be absolutely invaluable.  Lupin's taking Cardiff; he's a native Welshman and with all the years he spent living in and around the city, he knows it inside out. That'll leave Wrexham for..." She nodded to Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs, currently inspecting her troops. "Carrow's a she-bitch straight from hell, with the sadistic tendencies to match on the personal as well as professional level. Nami plans to teach her the value of the straightforward approach."

"Isn't she supposed to be next thing to a Squib? Carrow, I mean?"

"Yes, in the applied manner, but what she lacks practically she more than makes up for in terms of the creative theoretical.  Research and development, shall we say, and all she's had to do is hire people who appreciate the chance to put her theories into practice. Completely unsurprisingly, she's the one who put out the bounty on Luna Lovegood."

"Why unsurprisingly?'

'Pan Lovegood's got a bit of a reputation in her field: research and development of new charms, not just adapted ones. She hasn't published much - not nearly as much as one might expect of someone of her caliber - so there are quite a few people who have speculated on the contents of her filing cupboards over the years. Given her long-term friendship with Remus Lupin and his as-of-yet unexplained recovery, and the speculation on whether Luna was actually his daughter and therefore subject to his inherited lycanthropic tendencies, it wouldn't be a far reach to wonder if the girl's mother was the one who worked up the cure alongside Fleamont Potter, or at least knew of it and decided to test it on her child's father."

"She knew Fleamont Potter?"

"Yes, through Lupin again, by way of his friendship with Jamie. Jamie and Pan were fairly neutral on each other, but Fleamont always quite liked and encouraged her. He and Euphemia would have liked a whole houseful of children, but it didn't happen, so they offered patronage of various sorts to certain of those promising and charming teens who crossed their paths as they visited their son at Hogwarts."

"How close are the two of you? You and Pandora, I mean?"

"Not particularly, though I've always been an admirer of her work. We don't travel in the same social circles, but we've kept up a bit of a correspondence on the subject of charms in general over the years. They're my preferred field too, after all, even if I've never had the chance to study them officially. Anyway. Carrow probably put the bounty out knowing that Luna wouldn't hit puberty for a couple of years, giving her time to convince Pandora to consider employment on her own research and development team. Charms are not always charming, and with her child as hostage to the cabals... Lupin's purported treachery would have provided any of the four with a good reason to bring her in, but insofar as Carrow is concerned, it wasn't just about Lupin. The mother was the real draw there, not the father, though the father, intimately aware as he would have been on the finer details of that which was in store for the child should he not do his part and pressure Pan into accepting Carrow's offer..."

There was a loud crack, abruptly cut off as Ren appeared again... He grabbed Lucius and pulled him aside, speaking rapidly. Lucius's lips tightened.

"You are certain of this, Lawrence?”

"Yeah."

"What's going on, son?" Moody strode over.

"Whoever killed Sadie Borgin wasn't after money," Ren told him. "They were after information. They knocked her cold, ransacked her memories - left one hell of a mess behind when they did it too; her brain's magical pudding - and cut her right hand off before AKing her."

" _What_?"

"I didn't just ward her flat. I put a bio-rune on her,  the one that wards against cold and damp with the extra against inflammation. The hand was severed right above the sequences; whoever helped themselves there was either on order to be careful or caught a glimpse and realized what it might sell for."

"Theories?" Amelia Bones demanded, appearing beside them.

"From the timing, and the implications of the memory sack... Someone else was there when I went in for my first visit a week ago last Wednesday night, when I made certain inquiries on a certain individual and his regular habits. I'm guessing that that someone popped out to inform that certain individual on my interest in him, and then came back to pay her a visit on behalf-of, and to get whatever other information on me she had. The body was at least a day old, which means he came in yesterday, probably when she was lowering the wards to bring in her supplies. All of that taken into in collective account can only mean the one thing;  we’re in deep shit."

"Explain,” she ordered.

"I asked Sadie if Walden McNair ever came by," Ren said bluntly. "And when she asked why I was asking, I said it was nothing, just a bit of unfinished business that if it ever came to resolution, wouldn't take place on her turf."

"Christ, mate, _really_?" Charlie held his head.

"I checked for bugs first!” his husband snapped. "I'm not stupid!  It's Knockturn Alley, though, and bugs aren't the only issue, are there? There are fucking _rats_ everywhere, including the walls!" He dug in his pocket and dug out a long splinter of wood. "I popped back and did a quick scan of the shop, and found this, after I found residuals under the fingernails of her left hand. She must’ve tried to grab the fucker’s wand when he was going at her. From the look and shape, she might have just taken a chunk out of it, leaving it functional, but there's enough here to identify the wood at least. Sirius?" he called. "Can you come and check something out for me?"

"Sure, pu...Er. Ren. What it is?" He padded over, took the splinter of wood, examined it, sniffed it, gagged rudely, and handed it to Lupin. Lupin passed it under his nose. His lips twisted and his nose wrinkled in abject distaste.

"Let me guess." Moody sighed. "On that theme of rats again…”

"Pettigrew," Remus confirmed.

"Shit. So the bugger went straight to McNair last Wednesday week and  told him you were inquiring -"

"Right after I'd set up an appointment with Sadie for this past Monday night for me to come and do up her wards properly," Ren finished. "After closing. He made his report, slipped back in, went rummaging for information, of which there was none, and helped himself to her hand as a personal souvenir. I have absolutely no doubt, his employment history considered, that it's on ice right now waiting for Riddle to appear again so that he can ingratiate himself with a little gift containing the upgraded particulars pertaining to his pathetic efforts at body art."

Moody's eyes narrowed. “And would they be useful to him?"

"No. That, at least, we won't have to worry about. They're called bio-runes for a reason; they only act on live bodies, and once the host is dead, the magic fades right out, and the scribed sigils along with them."

"She was a Squib, though. I thought you said that bio-runes are powered by the active magic core.”

"Depends on the rune. Some are powered by attracted external magic. She lived on the Alley, and the place is dripping with it."

"Are you Malfoy's source?" Amelia Bones asked bluntly.

"No," Ren lied. "The unfinished business I was referring to was completely unrelated. I had no idea till now that McNair was one of the ringleaders. Makes no difference though. What does make a difference is that it's almost certain, within the last twenty four hours, that he's heard I was asking after him - and considering my participation in the events in Edinburgh, my actions in defense of Luna Lovegood and Niamh Weasley, and of course, the proximity of the full moon... We're now going in on the presumption that we're expected."

Lucius pressed his fingers to his nose.

"It's not as bad as it could be," Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs offered, appearing beside them. "We know where they'll be stashing the kidlets at least."

"We do, do we."

"Yeah. Newport." She tossed a copy of the previous day's morning paper at Moody, folded back to the letter Ren had written to the South and Central American and Pacific Island  contenders. "Total perverse coincidence, we all know, but _they'll_ think it's a code. 'Come out to play, my fellow warriors, and let's take down Namirembe, aka the Nundus, aka McNair, together.’ Ten to one the other three all think he's the only name we've got, since you didn't mention them - either that, or you can only scratch up the resources at this short a notice to deal with one of them this moon. They'll bring in all the kids so they can hold you off with hostages, or to take them out on hand when the mountain falls, just in vengeance."

"God _damn_." Ren seized the paper from Moody, scanning rapidly. "'Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs, if I weren't a married man, I would kiss you. Mention of the brooms: that means they're probably expecting an attack from the air, but as for the rest... Extended bubble-head charm, mind the spikes, suck out the oxygen and let them suffer on their own bad breath... Translated in strategic terms, Luke?"

"Come in by air, surround them all sides, go for the children first, then set it all on fire," Lucius translated. "They're expecting the direct nuclear approach. That means we will be best employing subtlety, and imploding them from the inside out." He Summoned a pile of maps and began to spread them out rapidly, slamming them to the walls and Vanishing all irrelevant material and tables in favour of the one huge centralized station. "Lawrence, start organizing based on what you see here. I'm going on one last tour to make see how clear the areas I scouted last night really are."

"Hold up." Ren grabbed his arm and cracked out. Lucius blinked as they reappeared in the garden room.

"What.."

"You don't need to be sicking up." The Warder hauled out a plastic packet. "Solstice come early." He pushed him back on the sofa, plopped down on his backside on the floor, stripped off the larger man's boots and socks, and clicked the end of the first biro. "These runes will turn your feet into a temporary floo grate. The ones I have on my own feet are permanent, but involve going through to the bone, and we don't have time for that now. In the meantime, these'll hold for forty eight hours. They'll let you in and out anywhere; there's no ward that can hold you because no one knows they exist. Rub this on" - the floo powder landed in his lap - "once every twelve hours, and picture where you want to go. You'll feel like you're blowing up like a bubble, not at all unpleasantly, and when you pop, there you'll be. If you're flooing out as a spider, it'll translate to all eight feet. I know. I've tested it." He began to scribe so quickly his hand blurred.

"What?"

"Ours is not to question why. Or how. Just go with it. I'll explain all later."

"Yes. You will. What about Niss?"

"It'll take a few more hours to get everything properly  organized. I'll  do her before she goes in, no worries." He switched biros. “They won't take on Charlie right now, though, before you ask. I have to figure out an adaptation that accommodates for the new quirks in his core.  That’s alright though, he’s never had any problems apparating." He switched biros a third time. Two minutes later he was done... He tapped a wand on the taller man's feet, murmuring. They seemed to tighten, heat and burn. He rubbed a handful of floo powder in; it promptly absorbed. "There. Socks, boots, and you're good to go."

"Excellent. Can I carry anyone with me?" Lucius inquired as he rose.

"Yeah. Two normal-sized adults, or the equivalent weight in kids.  It'll feel like side-along-apparating to them. It does, till they know it's not what you're doing. A perception thing, though you'll notice you didn't puke just now, when you came through with me?"

"Yes?"

"It's a nice bonus. All the squeeze, none of the sick for inclined passengers." Ren tucked everything away, and reached up and straightened the taller man’s collar. "Tuck the memory away behind that wall of yours." He waited out  the expected infinitesimal pause at that. Sure enough..

"And what wall would that be?"

"I know _Domo Separata_ wards when I see them, Luke," the former Harry Potter said kindly. "I had them to be going on with in my own head till quite recently, or a modified version of them anyway, that kept all the finer memories pertaining to the cross-world transfer locked away till I came here. The link the Horntails initiated allowed the three of us to check out your own primary content there when you willed it in the given moment, but the structure's still there insofar as anyone else is concerned, and that one warded section at the centre of the labyrinth that holds that one memory that forms  the anchor rune of the primary initiating sequence was completely blocked in any case, even given the link again. I can't see the details, but because I do know how it's done, I'm well aware that it's there."

"Erhm."

"No worries. No one's going to learn about it - any of it - from me. And I'll never ask, or go looking to find out, I promise. Whatever's there is, and will always be, yours and yours alone."

Lucius looked down at him.

_The reception room’s floo offered one last flare of sparks. The sudden and abrupt quiet was next to overwhelming. Lucius sank down on the Victorian chair that Lawrence Weasley-Cartwright had settled on and rejected hastily long hours before, and exhaled slowly.. Narcissa settled lightly on his knee. They wrapped their arms around each other, faces pressed to each others’ hair, and just…_

_Breathed._

_Finally..._

_"Have we reached a decision here, then?" Narcissa asked, sitting up a bit and touching the gold cross with a fingertip. Lucius snorted inelegantly._

_"My heart," he said. "Even my capacity for polite and gentlemanly skepticism has its limits. Never mind that past the point, continuing to espouse the doctrine of probability and coincidence seems more of an exercise in willful blindness than arrogance. I may yet be arrogant, but I have far too many eyes, it appears, to be able to rationalize that blindness convincingly now, even to myself."_

_She touched the cross again, and did not tuck it back into his shirt._

_"To see him like that," he said, more than a bit wistfully. "At fifty, seventy, ninety... I know he was not my Ramone, Niss. I know that. But to see him again, and to see Antonio again, even if it was not my Antonio... To know that they loved Lawrence that much, and that he loved_ them _that much, and that it was their work, together, in his world, that in the end has saved ours..." He wiped his eyes. "In the midst of all of this insanity, it seems a rather impeccable reference."_

_She leaned against him again._

_"What are_ you _thinking?" he asked her._

 _"That I will be having_ words _with Augusta. To think that she's known all this time, and hasn't told us? Neville's our_ godson _! And Neil Cartwright is his.."_

_She paused._

_"He did grow up rather well, didn't he," she said. "I must say, I'm rather embarrassed by how much that one surprised me."_

_"I would rather not go there just yet, my heart, considering that the man was essentially married to our equivalent son for eighty four years."_

_"He also flipped bloody Riddle the double finger," she pointed out. "And circumcised his snake. I might have fallen for him too, if I'd seen him do that. Never mind Scorpius. Salazar's_ socks _, Lucius; we_ will _be arranging Draco's marriage to Astoria Greengrass, just to ensure that we get Scorpius out of the deal. The man would have been nothing short of Abraxas' boggart."_

_They snorted together, and despite themselves, leaned against each other and laughed helplessly._

_"This is insanity," Lucius said again, wiping his face. "I cannot believe we are yet considering it. Why are we considering it again?"_

_"Because past the point of insanity it's all so insane that the word has no meaning? And you might as well turn your back on the prospect of incipient madness and take what you see at admittedly quite pleasant face-value?"_

_"Bloody Horntails," her husband agreed. "Still."_

_He smiled down at her luminously. She smiled back up at him, her glow matching his. He slid his hand down and put his hand on her narrow board-flat belly._

_"I am willing to share the prospective miracle," he said. "If you are."_

_"It's not just up to us," she pointed out, and sighed. "Those poor things. I want to go to Little Whinging right now and absolutely_ raze _Privet Drive."_

_"I think we are going to have to stand in line for that one. Under the circumstances, Charles' right to raze does take precedence over ours. I will settle for a front row seat, though, and popcorn, and a post-event family trip to South America to completely eradicate the Peruvian Vipertooths."_

_"I want bloody front row seats in Dublin, is what_ I _want," his wife said with relish. "It's going to be_ epic _."_

_"We have front row seats in Dublin." Lucius tilted his head at her. "You do not think it cheating on his part? Even a little?"_

_"No," Narcissa said immediately. "Absolutely not. Anything goes at the Global Invitationals; the rule is absolute as long as it's not Dark or intentionally deadly, and what does it matter how old he is or where he came from? He's not faking his credentials as an International Dueling Master; he got those fair and square, if not locally, and that's all that matters."_

_"You_ did _catch that bit where Augusta cheated on his behalf to get him that wildcard, did  you not?"_

_"The wildcards are never randomly distributed, Lucius. She didn't cheat any more than any of the others who got them did."_

_"Very true." He kissed her gently again_ . _"I should try and sleep for a few hours."_

_"What of the Felix Felicitas?"_

_He grimaced._

_"I am not just losing my instincts; I have lost them all. That I should need someone to point the potential problematic out there... It is nothing short of embarrassing."_

_"You're tired," she said charitably. "It's like you said. It's been ten years, and you're still tired. I'm tired too. I didn't see it either. I suppose, when it comes right down to it then... That we can only be grateful that there's someone else now, beside us, with us - who did."_

_"A hundred thirty nine," he said. "I cannot... I just..."_

_"I'm more stuck on Charlie and the going-on six-years of cancer," she said frankly. "I don't know about you,  but honestly, after realizing that - after_ seeing _that - I'm not inclined to do anything but spend the rest of our lives helping the poor man enjoy his second chance to the fullest."_

_"And coincidentally annoying his mother?"_

_"Do not," Narcissa Black Malfoy said grimly. "Even get me_ started _on the subject of Molly Weasley, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. Do._ Not _."_

 _"She will have to deal with Arthur," Lucius reminded her soberly. "I do not - cannot, at least at this point - feel sorry for her for the rest, Narcissa... But I do feel pity for her there. Forgive me, but I am not sure that I could forgive_ you _for that if it were Draco, and Arthur...." He rubbed his lips. "Of all men... Of_ all _men..."_

_"Are you ever going to tell me what happened there?" she asked._

_"You did not look?"_

_"No. I didn't see everything, any more than you did. And I was distracted besides." She grimaced. "That hairstyle? What was my counterpart thinking? Those stripes were absolutely hideous."_

_"Oh, do not give me that. You may well have been distracted, but you were no more looking at hairstyles than I was. Or they were, for that matter."_

_"As I said. Admittedly quite pleasant face-value."_

_"The rear view was quite charming as well," he admitted. He slumped back. "Salazar's scuzzy slippers. That_ arse."

_"Mm. Though from the rest of the view I got at least, it's no wonder that he was sitting so uncomfortably all afternoon."_

_They both sniggered._

_"We really are quite dreadfully shallow, aren't we," Lucius mused. "If we are willing to give it all over and put aside all else for a go there?"_

_"Are we?"_

_"They did save our world. One may make any number of allowances for the fact, I should think..."_

Lucius Malfoy reached out, pulled the Warder to him, and wrapped a firm arm around him as he took him by the chin and kissed him. Hard. Ren kissed him back, harder.

"Stay alive," he ordered as they pulled apart. "I don't know where we're all headed, but I do know that we're not nearly there yet." He shimmered, and was suddenly in his black leathers again.

"Wait," Lucius commanded. "Before we go back... Show me."

"Show you… What?"

"Your eight legs."

" _Now_?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Don't piss yourself." He blurred. Lucius Malfoy actually squeaked.

"That's what I said," Ren agreed, blurring back.

"I have two words for you. Dorrie Carrow."

"She doesn't like spiders?"

"I do not know. We do know, however, that she was the one who  put out the order on Luna Lovegood."

"Huh. Alright. What does she look like?"

"You cannot miss her. She bears remarkable resemblance to a toad."

Ren blinked at him. "Dorrie... As in Dolores? As in Dolores _Umbridge_? Isn't she supposed to be a bit of a Squib?"

"The cabals rely heavily on a certain variety of Nomaji to support them," Lucius explained. "Psychopathic types. She owns the Wyverns, but she is also the primary liaison there, and recruits new members. Her husband makes sure she has adequate protection from his side of the family in the interests of increasing their mutual profits. She is very, very good at it."

"And you're not offering her to Pandora?"

"Pandora will not be coming tonight. As she now knows that she is a specific target, and quite probably one with a considerable bounty on her, she is not willing to risk Luna losing both parents."

"Ah. Do me a favour," Ren said after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Put Neil on her. Or Obonyo-Higgs. I'm not... I'm a Warder now. Officially. I'll get the kids out. If I have to do what I have to do, I will... But I'd rather get the kids out. I can't just go in with the intent to kill. It's not who I am. If I have to, I will. But the other...  It's a hard habit to break, especially when it's on order, and if there are other options available, other people available who'd be willing... I'd rather not."

"I am not ordering you, Lawrence."

"You're England tonight, General. Potter motto: We Stand. Tonight, this Potter's coming out of retirement to stand with England."

"Does Moody still know who you are?" Lucius asked.

"No. I felt horrible about it; I bloody hate Obliviating anyone, but it was an unacceptable loose end. I went to the hospital while he was unconscious and made sure his memories of the meeting in Edinburgh and the morning after were affected by the knock on the head. He remembers being possessed, and the others being there, and me coming in - as I am now, not as my younger self -but not any of what he got out of any of us."

"But Riddle still knows?"

"I suppose, but not to put too fine a point on it, it's a pretty unlikely story, yeah? Even if he were to come back and gather everyone he knew up and say 'this is what's going on', he'd come off as a complete nutter, wouldn't he? Even to his most loyal followers?"

"As his former chief strategist, I would say that is a fairly accurate assessment," Lucius admitted. "Even Bellatrix would have had a hard time keeping a straight face there."

"Well, then. And the glamours he saw on me and Neil are no longer there; we're one hundred percent real now thanks to the Room of Requirement, so he might just want to believe, upon future examination and reflection, that he's suffering the effects of forced dispersion."

"Your mother's glamours are still in effect, though," Lucius pointed out.

"Yeah well. Easy enough to explain that she never actually died than the other, if it comes to that, and right now, Moody's accepting that other implanted suggestion that I put in at the hospital; she was badly disfigured during the war and keeps them up for aesthetic purposes. No worries. I covered all of our bases."

Lucius sighed.

"Do you know," he said. "I do believe you there? I am simply so used to working with utter strategic incompetents."

"I hear you." The regenerated Harry Potter patted his arm sympathetically. "I had to cross how many universes before I found someone who knew what he was talking about there, after all? All that effort considered, Malfoy, I reckon you'll be footing the curry bill from now on."

"An eminently fair exchange," Lucius agreed. "All your efforts considered," and on that final note, he removed the smaller man's hand gently from his elbow, and slung a strong, firm arm around his shoulders. "Shall we?"

"Mm. Making the statement, are we?" Ren inquired, cocking his cowlick and looking up at him sideways.

"Camaraderie," Lucius returned.

"Uh huh. I _saw_ you looking, Malfoy. You weren't even subtle about it."

"You are not exactly one to talk, Master-Adept."

"Ah. Well. We'll just leave that there, then."

"For now," Lucius agreed. They flashed out and back to the conference hall.

* * *

 

**Four Hours Later**

“All set.” Ren tucked the biros away, and stepped back to examine the recipient of his handiwork. Nymphadora Tonks touched her ears gingerly. Reverted to base-form, her face was a perfect heart, though her eyes were a bit wide-set, her nose a bit sharper than the former Harry Potter remembered, and her hair, cut short, was not mouse-brown as it had been at home, but coal black as  Bellatrix' had ever been. As coal black as Sirius', in fact, and now that the Warder was looking, she looked more than a bit like him there... He couldn't help but notice Remus, standing not far-off, noting the fact as well, looking closely at her and back to his fiance, several times as he calculated the odds on a child there actually bearing resemblance to both of its fathers. He looked, Ren thought, rather inordinately pleased with his chances.

“You’re sure this will work?” Tonks  asked.

"Yes. Your clumsiness isn't so much clumsiness as it's symptomatic," Ren explained. "I've met a couple of other Metamorphmagi in my time, and you all have the same problem. It's because you're all, always, shifting just a bit on the autonomic cellular level, throughout all of you. And since 'all of you' includes your inner ears, your balance is affected. That little sequence I just placed is all you need to fix you right up there.”

"I'll still be able to shift though, right?"

"Yeah, of course. Everything but your inner ears, anyway, and those don't show.  Off you go, now. I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

“The… Uh?”

“Later. Move your arse, Nymphadora.”  Mad-Eye Moody appeared, surveying the carefully arranged ranks, all placed in precise physical position and patterns that would allow them to take best advantage of the meticulously mapped terrain awaiting from the very first moments of  arrival.

“Don’t _call_ me that!” She glared as she moved into place amongst a small cluster of grim-faced Welsh, Scottish and Irish on-calls… Lucius’ last-hour reconnaissance mission had resulted in a single terse recommendation to the Director of Great Britain’s DMLE  on the particular subject.

“Bring them in,” he said. “Bring everyone in. This is no time for the prudent reservation of resources, and subtlety is no longer an option. They are all there, they know we are coming, and losing is not on their game plan. Dying is an option, but they do not care as long as the privilege is rendered all around. Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs, if we survive this night, Great Britain owes you a very, very large ale. Your assessment of the cabal leaders’ probable interpretation of Lawrence’s letter in yesterday’s paper was quite appallingly correct.”

“What the _hell?_ ” Namirembe had said blankly as he’d pulled out a sheaf of magically enlarged photos and plastered them magically all over the walls. “ _How_ the hell? Never mind the details, you shouldn’t have been able to turn around without being spotted! Or running into someone! Literally! Jesus _fuck_ , how many people have they got there, anyway?”

“Every single one available to them,” Lucius said grimly. “Anglesey, Wrexham and Cardiff are empty, and all waiting in the one place.”

“And the kidlets?”

“Far easier and more expedient to have the necessary discussion once, Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs. Director Bones,  if you would instruct everyone to be seated, so that we may begin? There is no time to waste.”

“On your word, Minister,” Director Bones said, and held out her hand, palm first, to the podium.  Lucius had nodded, taken half a step - and offered her a quite spectacularly funny double-take.

“I… _What_?”

“We binned Fudge and elected you while you were out,” Aberforth Dumbledore informed him from where he was lolling over crumbs at the ravaged biscuit table. “Till the next election can be called. Try not to bugger it up, eh?”

“What… Why…” He actually floundered. “Why would you do that?” His genuine, flummoxed astonishment was even funnier than the double-take.

“Because you’re nice and kind and sweet and handsome and funny and people like you?”  The old man popped a stray chocolate chip in  his mouth and chewed at him sardonically.  “Had you beat from first to last on all fronts, I thought, but then I didn’t spend ten years shagging wee Tommy with his own wand while making him beg for the pleasure, did I, so you edged me out there. And on that note again… No buggering up.”

“Ah. Alright.” Lucius collected himself quickly, and straightened his shoulders. “Be seated please,” he called. “And we will get started. There is no time to lose.” As everyone obliged swiftly, he glanced about. “Where is Fudge, Alastor?”

“Back the secured holding cells at the DMLE. Complete liability in here, can’t rely on him to keep his gob stopped out there, and it’ll take him at least a month to process that he can’t just be ordering people what to do anymore, so ‘Melia said it’d likely be best just to stow him where he could do the least harm in the meantime. Couldn’t charge him for anything mind you, so he’s officially in protective custody after resigning his position. Least we could do for him. World’s a big bad place, and who knows who might get it into their heads that a man of his former position might make a hostage worth negotiating for? Or. You know. Not worth negotiating for. Full moon’s less than a day away, and it’s been a busy month for both heroes and not. He didn’t argue when we put it like that.”

"Very well, I… “ He’d turned, only to be faced with a most peculiar sight: his wife’s cousin seating himself comfortably as he adjusted the cross-straps bearing the weight of what looked like two extremely large sparkling red and gold Nomaji assault rifles. “Professor _Black_?”

“They’re water guns,” Sirius had said happily. No, not just happily:  _ecstatically._ “Loaded up with Kiss-Off. Only Professor Cartwright there brought his whole stash: one nice solid squirt right in the closest soul-sucking gob, and poof. Sweetness, light, puppies, kittens, rainbows, butterflies, _and_ unicorns, that’s what _he_ said.”

“Kiss-Off?” Britain’s new Minister of Magic turned his eye to Neil Cartwright, passing bars of chocolate down the row from Remus Lupin’s pristine and pin-striped, apparently bottomless pockets. “Your formula for disposal of Dementors, I presume, Headmaster?”

“Bang goes you,” his godson’s counterpart confirmed amiably. “Half a dozen drops per gallon of water, and the Thing’s Got Done. Brewed specially for that special variety of persistent admirers who can’t, or won’t, take a hint.”

Lucius Malfoy regarded the man before him for one long, measured moment, and then the man beside him.

“Lovely sword, Professor Lupin,” he observed. “Is it new?”

“Bit of an heirloom, actually,” Remus Lupin returned, eminently blandly. “Not one of the standard accessories listed this season, I know,  but then again… It’s far better to set the standards than otherwise, wouldn’t you agree, Minister Malfoy?”

“Mm,” was all Minister Malfoy said. He smiled pleasantly again at the Headmaster. _You may be my godson’s counterpart, but you are not my godson, oh no you are not. And if my godson is not returned to me in exactly the same condition he was when I last saw him - and for the record, that was_ not _the same time as the last time he saw_ me -

 _It will not just be a problem._ I _will be_ your _problem._

“And how was tea?” the Headmaster inquired. “Quite properly brewed, Ren told me, and he said that had a good time, but you know. I thought I’d ask. His dear departed mother would never forgive me if I ever stopped keeping an eye out there, never mind his wi… OW!”

“Knock it off, Paddington.” Ren withdrew his hand as he seated himself directly behind Neil and three seats down from said dear departed mother.  “Or I’ll _cut_ off your marmalade,  _and_ your honey, _and_ your bacon. So are there Dementors there after all, Luke, or were your sources mistaken? I know you said you weren’t sure earlier, when we were talking about it, but I asked Gramps to bring whatever he had on hand just in case.”

“Beorn,” Neil said firmly. “ _Not_ Paddington.”

“Now, now, Master-Adept.” Narcissa seated herself gracefully, directly beside the man’s dear departed mother again, and directly in _front_ of Molly Weasley. “It’s quite alright. We all had a perfectly lovely visit, Headmaster. Ren told us what must be absolutely everything about you, _and_ his wife, _and_ his father, and _especially_ his mother.  I’m so very sorry we’ll never get to meet her in particular. There are so very many questions I’d love to ask her that only a mother _could_ answer when it comes to her sons, don’t you think? Questions on the little things that no one else could ever know, because we mothers _do_ keep that rather constant eye out, don’t we? We simply can’t help ourselves. It’s just… What we do.”

“Shut it, all of you,” Moody had snapped. “We are at _war_ here!  Alright, Malfoy. Give it to us straight. Who, what, when, where, why and how?”

And Lucius had answered… Back in the moment, in the hour before dawn as everyone settled into position, he stood before his army and surveyed them all, and for the first time before witnesses in his adult life, he let both of his wands slip out of their holsters into his  hands - bloodthorn and phoenix feather in the right, Spanish oak and forelimb of Brazilian wandering spider in the left. He looked down at each, from one to the other, hesitating. Then…

“What the fuck!” Namirembe protested. “What did you go and do _that_ for?”

“I have never liked it long.” Lucius dropped his long, severed braid on the floor and pointing his right-hand wand at it. “ _Evanesco_ !” It Vanished on the spot. “My ancestors may have considered it traditional, but I consider it a right pain in the arse, never mind  pretentious as all shite.”

“You’re a wizard! You can care for it with magic! And it was pretty! And now it’s not!  Make him grow it back, Nissie!”

“No,” Narcissa said. “No, I don’t think so. Though...” She flicked her fingers. The hacked strands shortened, neatened, and shaped themselves tidily. “Much better.”

“S’very nice,” Charlie agreed approvingly. “Only it  really brings out the blue of his eyes, don’t you think, Mate?”

“If you say so,” Ren said, very dryly indeed as he slipped his own wands out of their holsters. Namirembe’s eyes swiveled immediately.

“Are those your back-ups?” she demanded. “The ones you’re using at the Invitationals?”

“As a matter of fact, they are. One of two sets I have now, though I haven’t decided which I plan to use as my primaries. I’m still getting acquainted with the second pair. They’re very promising, but like their original owner, utter perfectionists. They don’t intend to make the final commitment until they’re sure I meet their standards.”

“Sorry about that,” Sirius said apologetically, looking up from where he was fiddling with his water guns. “Reg was a bit of a stuffed shirt, there’s no getting around it. He always intended to use them when he went for his own Grandmastery though, so if you remind them of the upcoming, they’ll warm up a bit faster, I’m sure.”

“Reg… You gave him _Regulus_ ’ wands?” Lupin gave his fiance an odd look.

“'Course not. You can’t give away wands like those two, you know that.  It’s just not how it works. I introduced them, though, on Monday when he and Charlie came up to Hogwarts for lunch. I'd had  Kreacher dig them out from wherever he’d stowed them when I explained to him what, or rather who, I had in mind, after the duel.”

“What’s so special about them?” Namirembe asked suspiciously.

“You’ll find out,” Narcissa told her. “At the appropriate moment. No, Master-Adept. Not one word. She _will_ try to work it to her advantage.”

“What, you’re on _his_ side now?”

Her lips tilted as she looked at Lucius. His tilted back, and he inclined his head slightly.

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” she said. “But…” She turned to face Ren and Charlie directly. “House Malfoy looks forward to your owl, gentlemen, with your suggested date for dinner.”

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” Moody said as cheers and whoops rose all around. “Are we done with the chit-chat yet?”

“For the moment.” Lucius nodded and stepped back into position beside Ren. “On your word, Captain.” Everyone present braced themselves. Ren patted a suddenly and slightly green Narcissa's arm as she stood  beside Lucius and Charlie. Lucius squeezed her fingers, and released them gently. Charlie winked at her.

"No worries, love,"  he reassured her. "We've got this."

"Brilliant. Only I think I'm going to sick up. Is that normal?"

"Completely. Save it for the enemy," Ren advised. "On arrival. Trust me, it really throws off their concentration if you come in mid-heave, 'specially once you've learned to direct it."

"I shall keep that in mind." Narcissa Black Malfoy offered her husband one last quick, desperate hug. "I love you, Luke. Be _careful_!"

"Always," Lucius promised. "Charles..."

"I've got her. We've got each other." The wrangler's warm brown eyes gleamed as he flexed his own hands within the black dragon-leather gloves encasing his thick, brawny arms from fingertips to shoulder. Ren blinked down.

"When did you get...  What the... Are those bloody _scales_ , Charlie Weasley-Cartwright?" his husband demanded.

"Mm. Only arseholes who go after kids aren't exactly on, yeah?" There was a low, not-quite soft hiss on the third word. He seemed, suddenly, not just lit from within with that ruddy bright glow, but with radiating miasmic heat that seeped through his every pore. "I've never thought so. Now... I _really_ don't think so. Before we go, though..." The scaled hands flashed out sinuously, pulling Lucius down, and then Narcissa in, each for an eminently sensuous, if brief kiss. Ren opened his own mouth, startled, but not a breath of sound had a chance to escape before rough, burning lips _(bright-burst orange and half-burnt nutmeg, hint-of-cigars and chili-spiced chocolate, wild raspberries straight from the vine and Fortnum and Mason's peppermint tea)_ claimed his.

"All for one," Charlie Weasley-Cartwright quoted, and immediately corrected himself. "No. S'not quite right. All _are_ One.  Between the four of us... A bloody buggering bollocking _army's_ worth of One. We've got each other because we _are_ each other. And now... Now we're going to get _them_." He caught their bemused looks. "S' a metaphor, yeah?" he said kindly. "Not the getting-them bit, the other bit. The metaphorical bit."

"Charlie, what..."

"No worries, mate. My core might be shared territory now, but it's still me running the Reserves. Wrangler, remember?"

"Shared _terr..."_

“Wands OUT! Notice-Me-Nots UP! Phalanx One: on THREE! And remember: CONSTANT BLOODY _VIGILANCE_ ! ONE… TWO... _THREE_!"

And the world whited out, and expanded, and popped.

  
  
  



	17. Thursday Dawn (2): The Use of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which We Hit Two Major Milestones: The Battle of the Cabals and The Passing of the Half-Million Word Mark In the Ongoing Saga. Feel free to leave celebratory/disbelieving comments. :)
> 
> If you haven't read the first two chapters of 'Sailing to Byzantium', I STRONGLY recommend you do so BEFORE you read this chapter. There are references herein which, while not strictly necessary, will provide context. 
> 
>  
> 
> All Action written in Sections in Bold Font take place in Brazil, 1971.  
> All Action written in regular font takes place in England, 1991.
> 
> There is a single section written in regular font, divided in half by a flashback written in regular italic font. PLEASE NOTE, this flashback is still modern day. Mind the dates and times!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTES:
> 
> This chapter took three months.  
> This chapter is almost 30, 000 words.  
> THIS CHAPTER HAS A LOT OF STUFF IN IT.  
> The next chapter will not take three months. <3  
> All Named Chapter Titles (save for Storm Front (Billy Joel) and Forest of the Night (Wm. Blake)) are drawn as quotes from T.S. Eliot's 'Little Gidding'.
> 
>  
> 
> ICW = International Confederation of Wizards  
> ISEP = International Student Exchange Program  
> ISW = International School of Warding (Paris, France)
> 
> I love you all. That is all. To all of you with the strength and fortitude to wait me out, and to tolerate my rich-chocolate-truffle-dense writing... I WILL remember every one of you.

**_This is the use of memory:_ **

**_For liberation - not less of love but expanding_ **

**_Of love beyond desire, and so liberation_ **

**_From the future as well as the past._ **

**_T.S. Eliot_ **

**_‘Little Gidding’_ **

 

Ted Tonks had always been utter rubbish as a duelist. Up to the point in time where sixteen-year-old Andromeda Black had fixed her glinting, predatory eye on him, he hadn't given his inadequacy  much thought; his desired career in investigative journalism, after all, meant  that he would be documenting the heroes’ stories rather than acting as one himself. Once the second daughter of House Black had got him where she wanted him, however (and how she wanted him, whenever she wanted him), and more to the point informed him that They Were Official, he liked to joke that he didn't have to think on defending himself. His beloved, after all, was more than skilled enough to protect them both.

When, in April of 1971, though, Andromeda informed him that she intended to carry on a post-Hogwarts relationship with him - a Muggleborn, and a _Hufflepuff_ Muggleborn at that (Ted had never been able to decide which of those two things offended her family more)...

"I love you, Ted," his Black-In-Name-If-Not-In Nature Goddess said in her eminently matter-of-fact, forthright manner. "And I'm perfectly willing to run away with you and marry you, forsaking name, reputation, heritage, etcetera etcetera, but I'm not going to do it without every possible back up plan in place. Sooner or later my family _will_ catch you out, and they won't be shy on expressing their disapproval, if-you-know-what-I-mean and-I-know-that-you-do."

Ted did know. Oh yes, he knew alright, and he didn't begrudge her her ultimatum for one moment. It wasn't a criticism, he knew, just an observation, and a completely, completely valid one at that. So he'd lain, buck naked on his back on the teacher's desk in the Muggle Studies classroom (unlike Narcissa, Andromeda didn't require the niceties of beds, though she had extended the surface somewhat to accommodate them; she was six feet tall and built like an Amazon, and he, while not quite as naturally robust, was still reasonably well-grown) and contemplated all the possibilities.  Andie waited, straddling him and adjusting the rather attractive rope vest that she was working up. _Shibari_ , the book called it. She liked the way it looked. Ted just liked the way _she_ looked when she was sitting naked astride him, practicing her knots.

"We could run away," he suggested. "It would be an exercise of prudence, not cowardice, so we would even respect ourselves in the morning."

"Blacks don't run away, Edward. We force the world to conform to our standards. Try again."

Ted adjusted himself a bit, bound hands tucked behind his head as a pillow. There was a spider spinning a web directly above him. He crossed his eyes at it. It ignored him, busy as it was working away at its own ensnared fly.

"You've got access to the restricted Potions cupboard, right?" he asked after a moment. "Since you're one of Slughorn's pets and all?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?" She adjusted a rope artistically, directly across his chest so that it would, with appropriate encouragement at the appropriate moment, chafe at his nipples.

"I'm not sure I should tell you. Only  you want to be a lawyer, right, and it's a bit illegal. I know you'd never turn me in, but you'd still have that inimitable urge to chastise me for it on your own time."

"Sweet-talker. Go on."

He elaborated. She was quite intrigued by his notion. _Quite_ intrigued, and very, very pleased with his ingenuity. He wasn't entirely pleased with hers in the hour that followed, though she made it up to him afterwards. She always did. And four nights later, when he slipped back to the Muggle Studies classroom, there she was, perched on the edge of the teacher's desk and brewing briskly away over a tiny fire.

"Wotcher, Goddess," he greeted her, coming up behind her and kissing her neck. She just turned about, grabbed his curly hair, slammed him magically to his knees, and hauled his head back as she reached for one of the two steaming vials on the cooling rack. He squawked, startled; she tilted and poured. He hacked and gagged, but at the tightened fist and the not-particularly-sweet, warning look, swallowed.

"That," he informed her as he recovered, "was mean." He hacked again as she tossed back a second vial in turn.

"Andie, what..."

"Blech." She shuddered violently. "Thank Salazar that _that_ one, at least, is a one-shot deal."

"Amen. Also, and again... _What?"_

"I'm curious. Aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, of course; who isn't, really? It's just... Very, very illegal. I'm shocked, Miss Black. _Shocked_ , I say!"

"It's only illegal once you manage it. I checked. And if you don't register after you do. Before that, it's simply an extremely inadvisable and physically dangerous, governmentally unsupported proposition."

"You plan to register your form once you Change?"

"No, of course not.  As firm a proponent that I am of a well-structured and well-managed judicial system, we're facing a war. Due prudence, as you say, is not only expected under those circumstances, but may be considered a national and patriotic obligation."

"Okey-dokey," Ted said obligingly, and dug in his robe pocket. "Breath mint?"

Six weeks later, seated side by side on the same desk, they contemplated the glowing vial of potion in her hand... Seventeen-year-old Andromeda Black let out with a great sigh.

"Sorry?" her beloved offered meekly.  She waved him off.

"What's done is done," she said. "Fancy a trip to the courthouse? We're both of age now; we don't need parental permission."

"We haven't graduated yet, Andromeda."

"I'm pregnant, Ted. We can take our NEWTS by remote, and I'll be politely requested to consider that option by the Board of Governors anyway, once I give in my reason for cutting off my partner in Transfiguration.  Only we're starting  the unit on Externally Imposed Human-to-Animal  next week, and that's not exactly advisable when you're pregnant, is it? Anyway," she continued determinedly, and just as determinedly avoiding the associated and obvious thoughts _there_... "They won't care on you; you're just the father, but leaving you here is _definitely_ not an option.  Bellatrix would have all of her contacts yet here at the castle on you within the hour, and without Lucius and Narcissa here to counter them, it wouldn't exactly be a _pleasant_ hour, would it?"

Ted winced. It was nothing but the truth, he knew.

"Alright," he said, and again.... "I'm _really_ sorry, Andie."

"I'm not," his goddess said frankly. "I hate this bloody school. My roommates are foul, the teachers are incompetent, the food's revolting, and I'm really, really tired of having to sneak around to shag. If I'm going to disgrace my family name by consorting with a filthy Mudblood, I want to be able to do it proper public so that none of them will be able to avoid the abhorrent and abominable shame of it all."

"Alright,” he said again. “I'll look up the requirements for a license, you sneak out to Gringotts and empty your trust vault into your expand-o-purse before your family can freeze it, and then it's the hole on the tapestry for you."

"Brilliant. Knees. Now. I want my proposal."

Seven and a half months later, they sat on her hospital bed together, eyeing each other and the child in Andie's arms as her tiny tuft of hair cycled happily from red to violet and every colour of the rainbow between.

"It's completely harmless," the junior Healer reassured them. "I promise.  Metamorphmagi - Metamorphmaguses? - are extremely rare; no one knows why or how they manifest, but it'll be nothing but an advantage in her future. Honestly, it's a bit brilliant, _I_ think."

"Mm." Andie couldn't argue with that. Because despite everything... It really, _really_ was.

"You didn't do anything unusual during the pregnancy, did you?" the Healer asked hopefully "Specially during your first trimester, that might help account for it?"

"No," the new mother lied brazenly. She was not, of course, about to mention that course of illegal core-altering Animagus potions she'd taken for the first full month and a half of her studies before she'd realized she was pregnant, nor the fact that little Nymphadora had been conceived on the night that she and Ted had knocked back the first and most powerful  of those potions together. She'd stopped, of course, as soon as the pregnancy had been confirmed, but the horrible possibilities, nevertheless (and they'd both looked them up, separately, if not together, if only to avoid breaking down together) had lurked like an indissoluble black cloud throughout the previous seven and a half months, shadowing their anticipation and joy.

"Ah," the Healer said, crestfallen. "Well, it's brilliant anyway. And she's so _cute_! Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks, and well done you!" She'd patted their shoulders encouragingly and skipped out.  Ted ran his hand through his curly hair and sank down on the bed beside her.

"Well," he said. "Now we know."

"It's not the worst-case scenario by a long shot," his wife said practically. "I mean, when you think on everything that _could_ have gone wrong."

"Mm. D'you think it'll piss your people off? Lot of prestige in claiming a Metamorphmagus in the line, yeah, but it's not in your line, is it, so it had to have come through mine." He smirked. "Go Team Mudblood!"

A year to the day later, January 4th, 1973, on Dora's first birthday  (it fell one month precisely before her future best friend's, little Charlie Weasley's), they'd had more than the one event to celebrate. Five o'clock in the morning, and Ted, yawning and bleary-eyed, was just about to start down the steep staircase of their flat to retrieve a bottle from the refrigerator when he trod firmly and painfully on a stray piece of Muggle lego. His pained howl was abruptly cut off, and Andromeda, there in a moment,  six feet and starkers and all flowing brown hair, looked around the empty landing in wild panic.

"Ted? Ted, what... TED! ANSWER ME!"

There was a sharp buzz and a blur, and she'd have jumped out of her boots if she'd been wearing them as her pained, but grinning husband appeared before her.

"What the _hell_?" she said. Ted blurred back. Andromeda's eyes widened as a plump furry gold and black bumblebee spun around her head and landed on her outstretched wand. "Salazar's... _Ted_?"

He blurred back and caught her up and kissed her madly. "It's brilliant," he said exultantly. "Do you have any idea, _any_ idea, Andromeda, how this is going to help me along in my career?"

"Your.... Uh?"

"Investigative journalism! Not just news-casting, but the _real_ kind! The important, _crucial_ kind, where you go into the worst, most desperate places, the horrible, horrible evil places, with horrible evil people, and bring back _proof_.  Photos, and recordings even, that will ensure that justice is done. And as a journalist, I can do that with legal impunity. Freedom of the press, right? All evidence gathered, permitted, admissible, made _public_..."

She sat on the steps of the landing beside him. He sank down beside her, giddy with joy. She just put her face in her hands. He was utterly shocked when she lifted her head to see that her face was streaked with tears.

"Andie, what..."

"You're safe from my family," she whispered. "You're safe now, Teddy."

"Well, yeah, that too, but..."

"You're _safe,"_ she repeated. "From my _family_ ," and for the first time in all the years he'd known her, Ted Tonks witnessed his wife cry.

Eighteen years later at Malfoy Manor, Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy surveyed his brother-in-law's Changed form in the ante-room where he'd been gestured aside discreetly after the initial briefing. "Interesting," he observed. "What are you suggesting, exactly?"

"I'm going to get myself killed in the first thirty seconds if I go in as myself," Ted said bluntly. "Mashed, in fact, and that's not my idea of a productive evening. What I _can_ do is get around safely and document events as they occur. With Weasley-Cartwright on defense and Obonyo-Higgs and Cartwright Senior heading the offensive charge we're set to bring the buggers down alright, but this... We're going to be breaking the back of every hope and dream every kid in Great Britain's had for the last fifty years, and telling them that it's been their worst nightmare besides. As for the adults... We _trusted_ these people. We _all_ trusted them, with our _children_. We cheered them on, we encouraged our kids to meet with them, to seek them out...."

He had to stop and compose himself. Lucius sat on a stool and watched him.

"The public isn't  going to want to believe it," Ted said. "They're just... Not. They're going to need - _demand_ \- proof. _Incontrovertible_ proof. I _know._ And Fudge was right on one thing; because it's you, it's going to be a lot easier for that public to believe that it's some kind of trick or mistake. Or long-term manipulation on your part. Because the alternative will be the realization, you see, the necessary admission, that we've all been that plain _stupid._ That we're guilty, and have been guilty, however unwittingly, of enabling and encouraging our children's rapists, torturers, and murderers. It's going to be... We're all avoiding the thought, you see.... That we were complicit in in the Lower Americas and the Islands because we were lied to and made blind, and maybe that does mitigate our guilt there, I don't know. But now... This… We did this to ourselves. No one did it to us; we did it to ourselves. Because it just makes so much _sense_ , when you look at the facts. What else - who else - could have it have been, but those four? And there's no one, _no one_ who wouldn't want - won't want - to avoid that thought and their own guilt by whatever means possible, and if that means laying it all on your doorstep..."

Lucius watched him closely. Ted set his jaw.

"I know this mission is classified," he said to his brother-in-law. "But you need it documented, Minister. Physically documented, and not just for proof, either, but because we’ll need  people to be able to see, to _see,_ not just that it was justified, but that we made them _pay_. _That's_ what they're going to want in the end. Once they accept that they were - that we all have been - just that stupid, they’re going to want to see, in _person,_ for _themselves,_ that the bastards _paid._ They're going to want to see you standing up and breaking them. _Breaking_ them. Grinding them to shit, ash,  blood... They'll need to see the fucking Angel of fucking Death come down and fucking _smite_. The local Angel of Death, not just the imported American version."

Lucius sat on his stool and considered that.

"You are right," he pronounced finally. "Very well.  There are several particular shots that I want, Edward. You may consider them your primary assignment. Commissions, if you would, from the Ministry of Magic. I will not pre-arrange them, but given the circumstances, I will not have to. They will arrange themselves. You... You will simply have to place yourself in proximity." He looked him over again.

"You were... Seventeen? Eighteen?" he inquired. "When you managed it? And Andromeda made the attempt as well?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Nymphadora. You are  - or at least Andromeda is -  going to have to remain unregistered,  and it would be best if you informed those that you intend to inform in the future that you managed the Change at a much later point during the war. There can be no hint that there is a kind of procedure that could produce her kind of gift. As it was, you were extremely fortunate. The type of birth defects that usually manifest as a result of conception under the particular circumstances are appalling, to say the least."

"Yeah. We know. And that's alright. She's never going to let anyone see her for what she is anyway. She's way too embarrassed."

"Mm?"

"Ask her, if you dare. That information's worth more than my bollocks."

A tiny quirk prodded at the corner of Lucius Malfoy's mouth at that.

"I understand," was all he said. "Stop by the Ministry next week and I will have a writ of exception - dated retroactively of course - ready for you. If you are ever caught out after I am out of office, you will be able to produce it as evidence that you did report to the Director of the DMLE at the time of your Change, but because of the particulars of your form, and because it was wartime, you were permitted to remain unregistered."

"Mm. You gonna write one of those up for yourself too?" The journalist grinned at the aristocratic raised eyebrow. "Now, now. Don't even try that one on. Andie and I figured you out years back. There's no way you could have survived without the ability, and Riddle would never have suspected, would he? He never liked to imagine that anyone - anyone - could have managed something he never managed himself."

Lucius scratched his chin. He wasn't entirely sure why his instincts were telling him to tell the man before him the truth - he liked Ted well enough, but they had never been, for obvious reasons, close -  but that being said…

"Hand out, please," he directed. "Shine a _lumos_ from your wand on your palm."

Curiously, Ted obliged. His eyes widened as the tiny arachnid waved a forelimb up at him.

"Holy Jesus bloody buggering _fuck_ ," he breathed. "That's... Holy _fuck,_ man!" Lucius Malfoy blurred back.

"Indeed. Now," he said. "Let us coordinate our plans, shall we?"

"Who else knows?" Ted demanded.

"Those who need to. Please keep this to yourself, Edward?  Completely to yourself? Riddle is not gone yet, and as he does not know of this ability on my part, even now, we may need a reliable contact in odd places. Who can reliably _get_ to odd places. If Frank Longbottom had had this ability, and mine, or your form... Well. Things would be very different now, I suspect."

Ted Tonks sobered at that. He held out his hand. Lucius shook it firmly.

"Not saying anything or anything," his Hufflepuff of a brother-in-law said as he released it. "But you might want to catch Arthur Weasley out before you go. Molly's so loud and distracting that no one ever looks his way - her included - and he's taken blatant advantage a time or two over the years."

"You do not say."

"No," Ted said. "I do not.  Moody and Amelia might, if you asked them, but I do not. Now. Lay it on me...."

 

* * *

 

 

**_Castelobruxo School_ **

**_The Headmistress’ Office_ **

**_April 25, 1971_ **

 

**"It is their revenge," Antonio Silva said flatly. Beside him on the long sofa in the Headmistress' office, Ramone huddled in his uncle's arms, his long, thin legs drawn up under his chin. His brown eyes were huge with terror and panic. Sitting on the arm of the chair opposite, Lucius turned the pages of the three documents that he held in his hands, reading and rereading each as his brow furrowed in consideration. "And my punishment for defying them last September. It will act as the students' warning that they cannot trust me, or Jesus through me, to protect them."**

**The Headmistress, elbows braced on the surface of the desk before her, rubbed her temples.**

**"An entire half-generation," she said. "They would truly,** **_truly_ ** **risk an entire half-generation?"**

**"There is no risk there on their part, Inez. They already know that I consider that scenario completely unacceptable on every level, so they have arranged events so that, in the eyes of my superiors, the choice that they are offering me is not my choice to make at all, but Ramonzinho's. That way, I have, and will have, no grounds for appeal on any basis, and as it is a matter of such mass vital concern, my superiors would order me to remain neutral and silent. To remain neutral and silent, and to permit Ramonzinho, as he is an adult now, the dignity of following his own conscience and making the decision that they all are - government and Church alike, and as he has already proven himself such a very morally conscious man - absolutely certain he will make."**

**"At the cost of his very identity? Knowing that, as he has the potential he does, that he would surely be turned into nothing but a weapon against all that is decent and holy? Against** **_you?_ ** **Bishop Alvarez has been as good as another parent to him all these years, Antonio Silva, and you are saying that he would simply allow him - no,** **_encourage_ ** **him - to walk into the arms of these monsters, these demons of Hell, and invite them do to him exactly,** **_exactly_** **, what we all know that they intend to do?"**

 **"He is but one boy, Inez.  There is no way that his Grace, no matter his outrage or personal grief, would be able to rationalize putting that one boy first, knowing,** **_knowing_** **, what would surely happen to those two and a half thousand innocents left behind were I to be ordered to leave the school. Disobeying him would almost certainly result in my formal ecclesiastical censure and my suspension from the priesthood, and** **_that_ ** **would definitely not be prudent. It would leave me as a private citizen: formally accountable in all manner of things to the government - and obliged, by force as necessary, to cooperate with them as they dictated. They could not force me magically, but they would not need to. All that they would need to do is start in on everyone around me, one by one by one, till I finally conceded their right to use me and mine as they will, when they will, as they will. And as I have no blood family besides Ramonzinho, and as he would be with me... Who,** **_minha rainha_** **, would they start with but you?"**

**They sat in silence. Ramone turned and burrowed even further into his uncle's arms. Silva gathered him up and held him close, fingers stroking the dark rumpled hair as he closed his eyes, and, lips moving soundlessly, prayed. Lucius tapped the three documents together neatly.**

**"A few questions, if I may, sir," he said to his advisor.**

**_"_ ** **Of course, my heart."**

**"This first document - this temporary writ of suspension as concerns your active status as a member of the Board of Governors, issued by the Board of Governors to one of their own who operates now as a teacher under notice of review - is clear enough. This second document that they have sent you, though - the order for, and notification of the specific date of that review... What are the precise implications there?"**

**"There is only one implication as you are defining it,” Silva said. “The order is the standard notice of end-of-year termination, issued in such a manner as a polite formality in order to allow the teacher time to make other arrangements for employment after the indicated date. It is sent when a teacher's lack of competence is so established that the results of the final interview are a foregone conclusion. Almost all other cases have concerned individuals in their first year of their careers, who have committed no offense but are simply unsuited for the job."**

**"So it is not truly a case of censure on anything but the practical level."**

**"** ** _Nao._ ** **It is not. There are other orders sent out for cases where the character of the individual, rather than their pedagogical competence is in question. Here, in this context, they are summoned to the review - it is always very short - and are offered coffee and the opportunity to tender their resignation independently. If they refuse, the offer for coffee is withdrawn, and they are informed without painful elaboration that their services are no longer required. I cannot recall a single incident where the summoned individual has refused to cooperate; all personal dignity aside, resignation does not cast a shadow on their future employment opportunities the way an outright dismissal would."**

**"And you have no say in the proceedings, Professora?" Lucius addressed Inez.**

**"No. The official, binding decree of termination will not be signed until the day of the scheduled review again: July the second, and I will not be Headmistress when that day comes around,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy. My interim contract ends on the final day of exams - the twenty sixth of June."**

**"Mm. And they do not intend to actually come to Castelobruxo to observe your classes in person, sir? In light of their penchants for the niceties again?"**

**"That would be the standard protocol,** **_sim,_ ** **but as they do not anticipate having to terminate me, it would serve no purpose but to waste everyone's time. The date - July second - is still of significance; Ramonzinho's grades for his sixth year exams will be in, and instead of my attending my review as now scheduled, government officials will come to him then, in person, to congratulate him on his unprecedented achievement of impressing the directors at the South American Academy of the Mind to the point where they are confident that he may progress there without his seventh year accreditation. They will escort him there personally, and as long as he cooperates and I do not resist, there will be no further trouble here at Castelobruxo, on my or their part. I will be invited to return here in September, the student body will remain unmolested, and I continue on as usual with my only surviving relative as hostage to my henceforth appropriately compliant behaviour."**

**Lucius turned to the third document again, the one addressed to Ramone by the Headmaster of the institution in question that was inviting him to consider them as his best post-graduate option. "What is the Academy of the Mind, exactly?" he inquired.**

**"It is where South and Central America train  their best Legilimancers and Obliviators." Ramone removed his ravaged face from Silva's shoulder. "Those who work on the highest and most dangerous and delicate levels of government. All governments. They are literally trained to shape the world, Luz. But before they are trusted to shape the world in others' images... They must be shaped themselves." He sat up a bit, hunching his shoulders. "Because of that... It is not stated, only a matter of established and public logic... No one,** **_no one,_ ** **ever actually applies there. Enrollment is by personal recruitment and invitation only."**

 **Lucius stared at him as he digested all of the implications of** **_that,_ ** **or attempted to, anyway. It took considerable time before he simply gave up, or rather set it aside in favour of proceeding to the next logical line of inquiry.**

**"And if you were to decline their invitation, or attempt to defer, even, in favour of staying here to complete your seventh year studies? Would they terminate you then, sir?" he asked Silva.**

**"Not permanently, no.  The parents would not stand for that. But for a month, perhaps, all of next September... I would find myself, as would Inez, on special assignment elsewhere. And during that month, with Ramonzinho yet here and the school undefended..."**

**"They would come again, as they did last autumn," Ramone said miserably. "And when they left, I would go with them anyway. I would be** **_pleased_ ** **to go with them. Honoured, even. And with me would go the collective memory of their rebellion through** ** _Tio_** **, as if it had never happened - and they would take me to the Academy, and my first interview would consist of a complete alteration. Before that, though..." He braced himself, completely ineffectively. "They would make sure that my last true memory was of my personal punishment for daring to defy them: an accident arranged for Mama, Papa and Pablo. They might even leave me the final thought of knowing that it had not happened yet, and that after they alter me... They plan to send me to do it myself."**

 **Lucius's eyes returned to the papers. His mind whirled, spun, tilted... He stood, setting the three documents on the desk before releasing his wand absently and moving a chair to the precise mathematical center of the room. He seated himself just as precisely and sat back, long legs stretched out before him and crossed neatly at the ankles, one elbow on each arm, fingers tented so that he might rest his chin on them and tap his lips thoughtfully as he contemplated his next words. It was a position with which his future colleagues would become intimately familiar... Despite his agitation, Silva couldn't help but smile a little at the sight. One symptom of his heart's progress as an Animagus had followed another, quickly on the heels of the preceding as they tended to once a Magical's core had got started, and his new penchant for instinctively settling himself exactly at the center of any dictated space whenever possible** **_was_ ** **rather indicative.**

**"You have told me," Lucius addressed Ramone, after one final tap. "That you wish to attend the International School of Warding in Paris. That you intended to apply next Christmas?"**

**"Yes."**

**"What would the government's reaction be if you told it you have been awarded a place there now, a year ahead of schedule?"**

**_"What?"_ **

**"The ISW is a singularly prestigious school, and most countries take considerable public notice of, and pride in, any candidates who succeed in their applications. And if you were to succeed there on the level that we all know you could, and would... You could come back and teach others in the Lower Americas what you have learned, as a most invaluable public service. Your mind and ability to absorb information so precisely considered... Perhaps even as a teacher here at Castelobruxo. A teacher of other teachers, not just students."**

**"This is true, and it was my plan, never mind my major reason for believing that the government would permit it in the first place, but it is moot now, my Luz. Never mind that I have another full year of study before I would qualify, it is far too late to put in my application. Even if the deadline had not already passed, my mail is surely being monitored now, as is** **_Tio's_ ** **and Professora Hernandez'. No letter that we send to anyone would reach them. And I have no money, not for application fees, or visas, or tuition... I could easily have won full scholarships to cover those things had my plan proceeded on schedule, but now..." He knuckled his eyes. Silva hauled him in until he was very nearly sitting across his lap.**

**"It can be done," Lucius said confidently.**

**_"What?"_ **

**"As I said, and never mind acceptance, there is huge prestige for any country  merely** **_presenting_ ** **a citizen of theirs as a viable candidate, Carriera.  If you were to write these people in the government  back and tell them that you have received a conditional notice of acceptance at the ISW for the September session, especially a year early, they** **_would_ ** **be forced to review their position. To assess the potential benefits that they might gain from you as a trained, pro-active force, rather than one who merely acts as an agent of recovery. You would be a potential asset on all levels in your own right, never mind in the long run again someone who could train others to save lives, not just to erase them. That is, after all, the government's main priority here." He turned to address Silva. "They are angry now, sir, but if we are honest... They really did have no choice in the matter but to take this path. You did incite a rebellion, and left the conspirators with actual physical proof of their oppressors' vulnerabilities besides. An entire half-generation with knowledge and evidence of the nation’s' best and brightest public enforcers' inadequacies, never mind the understanding that their own, Magicals, are not immune to ... Anything? Even erasure? No, they had no choice. No alternative. So we shall give them one. A better one, that will supply them with benefits that will, in both the short and long run, outweigh the necessity of making the point on you, and provide them with absolutely valid reasons to sweep this incident under the carpet where it belongs."**

**"My heart..."**

**"All jungles have levels," Lucius overrode his advisor firmly. "This is simply one level of that much larger jungle we all inhabit, and it is defined by paths and hazards which I have trained from birth to navigate. We may - will - traverse them all and emerge safely, if you will only take my hands and allow me to lead you, sir. All of you. Trust me.** **_Trust_ ** **me. This...** **_Here_** **...  I** **_see_** **."**

**Silva regarded him carefully. The blue eyes were level, not with arrogance, with simple unshakeable confidence. Finally...**

**"Tell us, then," the priest  directed. “Tell us your plan.”**

 

* * *

 

“Four levels, five wings.” Minister of Magic Malfoy nodded at the enormous three-dimensional image of McNair’s fortress as it rotated slowly over the podium. “The children are scattered in cells across all five wings over the fourth and lowest level, guarded by rotating patrols of Dementors and the remaining feral werewolves. They are not mixed patrols, which makes it considerably easier on our part; the teams that head in will be targeting one brand of enemy at a time. The Dementors are a simple matter now, as long as Headmaster Cartwright’s concoction works as promised. The ferals are rather less of one. They are armed not only with wands, but with an extensive array of Nomaji weapons.”

“How are they keeping the Dementors at bay?” one of the Aurors, John Dawlish, asked.

“Delayed gratification. They have promised them the full buffet as soon as we arrive, and have informed them that there will be no restrictions laid upon them.”

“Lovely. They’re blind, though,” Kingsley Shacklebolt pointed out. “How are they going to tell the difference between us and them once they’re loosed?”

“Professor Lupin?” Malfoy nodded to the ex-were.

“With less than twelve hours to go before the full moon,” Remus Lupin said, “the ferals, at least, will be projecting an entirely different flavour of emotion than they would when purely human. The children will likely  be drugged up. They won’t be projecting nearly as much active fear or anger as the incoming adults, so it will be easy for the Dementors to tell the difference.”

“You’ll also note that there are no Animagi on this lowest level.” Lucius pointed again. “That is for the ferals’ benefit; if they see anyone in non-human form, they are instructed to take them out immediately, no questions or hesitations.”

“Sev and I will go on one of the teams on that level,” Eulalia Shelley offered. “I’ve got really, really good aim, and he’s got…” She caught Snape’s warning look. “Oh, come _on,_ Sev! You’re like, custom-made for this  mission! If ever there was a time for your public debut…”

_“Eulalia!”_

“Professor Snape?” the Minister of Magic inquired. “Is there something you’d like to share with us?”

“No. There is not.”

“He’s not going to _arrest_ you, Severus!” Eulalia swatted her lover, exasperated. “He’d have to explain his action as a matter of public record, and this entire endeavour is classified on the highest levels, isn’t it? Never mind that Headmaster Cartwright there would eat him if he tried it; do you have _any_ idea just how hard it would be to find a new Potions Professor this far into the school year?”

“Not so very hard at all,” Headmaster Cartwright drawled. “I do live right upstairs from him, after all. Of course, taking over as Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House as well as Headmaster might put me under undue emotional strain,  but I’m sure I could manage. Pretty sure, anyway.”

“I did not survive ten years as Riddle’s right hand by ever accepting ‘pretty sure’ as viable and acceptable odds, Headmaster. Well, Professor Snape?”

“I hate you,” Snape informed his lady love, but stood and blurred. Minister Malfoy’s eyes crossed.

“Giant Asian Hornet.” The Potions Master blurred back. “Key features: unlimited venom and an excruciating and extremely distracting sting that causes pseudo-paralysis, neurological damage,  kidney failure, necrosis and in the certain extreme cases, death.”

“Let me get this straight,” Aberforth Dumbledore said from his crumb-strewn table into the astonished silence that ensued. “You’ve got an inherently poisonous, larger-than-life form that can swoop about and around corners without due notice, that induces abject terror in all sensible individuals at first sight, and that, when having at you on that sufficiently aggravating and personal level, causes systems shock, potential long-term mental damage, and the type of specific organ damage that would make you  piss yourself? Oh, and induces a condition that renders you willing to peel your own flesh off your living body rather than succumb to the effects of that toxic venom you spray out of your arse at whim?”

Howls of laughter filled the hall. Snape glared, but there was definitely a twitch about his lips there.

“ _Potentially_ toxic venom,” he said repressively. “Death is only truly a risk when the stu… victim suffers repeated exposure. I might also point out that treating the source with due respect and deference, and maintaining a prudent, discreet and appropriate demeanor when in its immediate vicinity reduces the chance of induced and inducing hostility considerably? ”

“That’s bloody _brilliant_ ,” Sirius gasped. “Merlin’s hairy balls. Oh my _God_ , Remy, can you imagine Jamie’s face?” Remus, red-faced himself and gasping with mirth, collapsed, howling again. Snape just rolled his eyes. “No, no,” Sirius said to him, recovering himself. “It’s not what you’re thinking. He was violently allergic to bees of any sort - had to take potions and everything. Bloody terrified of them he was; he was completely convinced  that if he ever kicked it it would be as a result of some sort of nasty unexpected sting where he’d got caught all unawares, and...”

He cut himself off as he processed the look on the other man’s face at that, and on the woman’s face next to him.

“Right. I’ll tell you what, then,” Sirius said. “If you spot that arsewipe Pettigrew, sting him just enough for the systems shock and self-weeing, Petrificus him into the dirt, and bring him home to me. We’ll do him together, and call it all square.”

“Oh, I’m to be allowed to assist, then?” his one-time nemesis inquired ironically. “Or will I simply be making myself available as your source of appropriately pithy and scathing commentary?”

“Aimed at me, or him?”

“I will limit myself to suggestions when speaking to you,” Snape conceded. “At least for the given occasion. I have crafted several spells and spell variants over the years that you would undoubtedly find both useful and entertaining, and I was not the one who spent nine years in Azkaban as a result of his treachery, after all.”

Sirius eyed him… Then much to everyone’s stunned astonishment, stood and held out his hand. Snape regarded it a long moment, then stood and took it.

“Do me a favour, Snivelly?” Sirius Black murmured as they shook.

“That would depend on the favour, wouldn’t it? And you have not got off on the right foot there, for the record. _Mutt.”_

“Yeah, yeah. If we’re down there... And you see that one or more of those things has me cornered, and there’s no way out...”

Snape looked him over at that, once... And quite deliberately raised his voice.

“You will be fine,” he said. “You survived nine years in Azkaban as an innocent man, Black, and came out yet capable of love.  As that is the case…  As I do know hell, if not that particular brand… There is nothing on this earth - any earth - that will ever truly touch you. It may feel as if it might, and will, in any given moment, but in the end, it can only be a lie. Fear is a lie. A deception. And we both know, do we not… Everyone here knows... That you are not a man who has ever in his life dealt in either of those things.”

Sirius blinked at him. Snape pointed his wand, straight-armed to the left and slashed down. Silvery-white light flashed and spun and dove, stopping to hover just before his former nemesis’ startled nose. Ren blinked, glancing sideways at his disguised mother. Her lips tilted slightly at him in wry acknowledgment - _Death changes us all; oh yes, it does._

“Your Patronus is a _butterfly?_ ”

Howls of laughter sounded again. Snape rolled his eyes. Again.

“No, Black,” he said. “My Patronus is not a butterfly. It is a luna moth. The primary feature there is that it spins its wingtips at such a speed when trapped that it disorients its predators and it is able to make a getaway.”

“Bugger that. It’s a butterfly.”

“Your grasp of subtlety is as astonishing as ever, I see. As its wings, in life, are a rather attractive silvery green, it is, at bare minimum, a _Slytherin_ butterfly - one that flies at night,  but, as again its wings are phosphorescent,  yet operates as a source of discreet, but definite light.” He reseated himself. “I have always thought that if my House were ever to put in for a new token animal that it would suit admirably.”

“Aren’t those the ones that only live a week?”

“They only live a week because they do not eat,” Snape returned. “I myself do occasionally indulge. And before you say a word, I am warning you now, if you - any of you - follow up that statement of mine with ‘Bite me’...  I very well might.”

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,” Andromeda murmured to Amelia Bones. “Luna moth, killer hornet… It does make the certain amount of sense, doesn’t it, if one were a career undercover operative? Professor Snape?” she called.

“Mm?”

“How did you ever get past the first job interview with Riddle with that going on?”

“I do believe that someone started a rumour early on that anyone but those pure of heart who attempted a Patronus would be risking their wands’ expulsion of  a great bloody load of carnivorous maggots.”

All eyes turned to Moody. He smirked.

“Does no good to confirm inherently bad intent in your recruits if they’re just going to die on the spot now, does it?” he said.

“Silence, please,” Minister Malfoy tapped the podium. “We have, as I said, no great deal of time. We will continue with the tour, assess and address the issue of the problematic ratios of opponents, and then proceed to the direct strategic priority of the hopelessly outnumbered - personal and group defense. Toward that end… Master-Adept, if you would?” He gestured to Ren. Ren nodded, and as Lucius stepped aside, took his place before the gathered hordes.

 

* * *

 

**"Very well,” Lucius said briskly.  “First, though, and before we begin, I must ask you one very important question, sir, that, depending on your answer, will dictate certain of the major specifics of our course of action.  You told me once that you have many contacts in many different countries, on all levels?'**

**"I do."**

**"Are any of those contacts alumni, or do they have contacts of their own who are alumni, of the ISW itself?"**

**"** ** _Sim._ ** **One in particular. His name is Gustavus Richards, and he attended Castelobruxo on his ISEP year, the same year that Inez went to Hogwarts. He and I became excellent friends while he was here, and remained in contact after he went back to his home country of Holland, and to Paris the year following his graduation. He actually teaches at the school, Adaptive Spell-Cast Warding, and has told me that he would be pleased to personally recommend Ramonzinho as a candidate to the Directors there when the time comes.  I know he would help even now, but there is yet the matter of reaching him."**

 **"Brilliant.” Lucius nodded. “ And hold that last thought; we will return to it. There are several factors to consider first, on the purely bureaucratic front. First, and most easily managed as per your procurement of necessary funds... That much, at least, none of you need even think on. I will be delighted to cover all of the necessary and related, including your application fees, Ramone, all traveling expenses, your full tuition, and  once you arrive in Paris, a personal living allowance. No," he said firmly as uncle and nephew both protested. "Do not argue with me, either of you, or I** **_will_ ** **hex you. My mother left me a quite ridiculous private fortune - her parents' families, on both sides, were stupidly wealthy -  and every knut of it remains independent of Malfoy's assets. As she must have expected the worse when I left, she arranged with the goblins for me to have complete and sole access to all of it in the event that she died before I turned seventeen. That means that I am accountable to no one there, legally or otherwise, not even Abraxas, and no one will ever know that I am behind it all.** **_No_** **!" he said again as Ramone protested. "If you will not take it from me, you may consider it a gift from her. She would," he emphasized. "** ** _Expect_ ** **me to offer, because it is precisely what she would have offered herself."**

**Ramone silenced immediately. Inez smiled a little. Silva offered him a tiny, understanding nod.**

**"Next,” the young Englishman continued, ”we must arrange, not only for your acceptance, but for all relevant correspondence and papers that pertain to that acceptance to be officially rendered and dated retroactively from both ends. We cannot afford to provide anyone here in Brazil with even a single hint that we are  manipulating them or outmaneuvering them after the fact of your receipt of these documents here; we must provide them with pre-established relevant information that they yet were not aware of, and that they might want to take into account when considering their ultimate options. Finally, we must arrange matters so that the government will be offered direct and immediate  public credit for supporting this course of action. They must be convinced  that their ultimate decision to support Ramone rather than to censure you through him, sir, is entirely their decision, and that he will, as a result of their decision,  prove so absolutely vital to the community that the considerable embarrassment that you have caused them must be set aside in the interests of the Greater Good."**

**"Is** ** _that_ ** **all," Inez said ironically.**

**"Not quite. Before any of these matters may be resolved, there is the matter of the outgoing mail again. We will need several messages delivered, immediately, in order to set things in motion."**

**"I am able to see where you are going with this," Ramone said. "But even if all that could be arranged, there yet remains that one immutable and inconveniencing fact. I am a sixth year, Malfoy-from-England. No matter how brilliant I am, they will not take me without the strict, non-negotiable prerequisites - my seventh year accreditation, with highest honours - an O+ in European terms, not just an O: ninety five percent or above - attained in all ten of their required standards."**

**"And that is where the ‘conditional’ in conditional acceptance comes in. If I am able to take care of everything else," the young man said to his lover. "** ** _Everything_ ** **else, Carriera... The necessary funds, the conditional acceptance, the modified correspondence, the government’s perception that it is gaining from this rather than being led by the nose, or outwitted again by Antonio Silva, and yes, their full and active support... Will you trust me when I say that there is only one thing,** **_one thing,_ ** **that you have to do? And that if you accomplish that one thing - and it is no small thing, but it is well within your capabilities if you are willing to take my hand, however frightened you are right now, and let me lead you through this - that all** **_will_ ** **be well?"**

**Ramone looked wary, but nodded.**

**"We have nine weeks," Lucius said. "Before the final week of school, and our examinations. If you were to take your sixth year examinations now...** **_Right_ ** **now, this week... How do you think you would fare?"**

**Ramone shrugged. "I read ahead, heh? I would manage well enough."**

**'Well enough', Lucius knew, translated exactly as 'perfect as usual'. "Excellent," he said. "That would leave you with eight weeks."**

**"To..."**

**"Learn the material for your seventh year examinations," he said. "And graduate from Castelobruxo with your original class, at the end of June."**

 

* * *

 

“I call it the Hail Mary sequence," Ren told the masses. The projected image of the relevant bio-runes spun mid-air for all to see. "I was going to demonstrate it in Alexandria before everything got switched up on me. As long as there's a viable live anchor on location here, anyone unconscious or hurt to the vital point will automatically self-apparate back here to Malfoy Manor, to the waiting team and immediate medical aid.  It won't save all of us, no - it’s a bio-rune, and that does require a live magic core to work with, so anyone killed instantly can't be affected - but it'll absolutely minimize our losses.”

“How do you mean, a live anchor?” Arthur Weasley asked. “What does that entail, exactly?’

“A single volunteer,” the Warder explained. “Whose core will act as a bio-runic home beacon for everyone else. In practical terms, every time an associated remote sequence is triggered, the beacon’s core will reach out and encourage, and yes, assist as necessary, the wounded and distracted Magical in Newport to self-apparate to the beacon’s own location here in Wiltshire. Do we have any volunteers? The position requires a great, great deal of trained and refined magical oomph, so age and experience will definitely  trump youth and enthusiasm there.”

"I'll do it," Moody raised his hand from his seat. "I'm useless as tits on a bull at close-range dueling now, what with the leg and all, but my core’s as solid as it ever was.”

Ren turned to face him.  Alastor Moody had never been a stupid man, and from the grim, determined look in his one eye, and unlike the rest of the present crowd, he’d obviously and immediately grasped the finer implications of what Ren was proposing. The odds of the necessary anchoring core remaining stable in the aftermath of the sheer amounts of expended magical energy that would be required to haul the night’s probable volume of potential associated targets back to safety... Under normal circumstances, the Warder would have assigned multiple anchors to the job, each assigned to a certain number of soldiers, but there simply wasn’t time to set up the necessary, and the entire mission was classified besides. Only one beacon could operate within a given geographical range, since it had to literally jack into the closest local ley-line in order to do its job. Malfoy Manor was an ideal location; it sat almost on top of its own local, but too many jacking cores would destabilize the main ley path. Had Ren had time, he could have warded that local path in order to prevent potential difficulties, but time aside, with only three weeks to the Winter Solstice - and of the four Global Warding Days of the year, that one was always, always, the most problematic - even he, as the Master-Adept, wasn’t inclined to mess with the simmering-to-the-point-of-boiling magical soup now brewing beneath them any more than he absolutely had to.

"You sure," he was all he said.

"Yeah," Moody said. "I'm sure," and three and a half hours later, after the last sigil had been inscribed on the last foot and just before the gathered forces had begun to assemble themselves in their final positions, he'd sat on the same stool in the ante-room where Ted Tonks had addressed Lucius, slipped his single boot off and hauled up his trouser leg. "Get on with it, then. Wait. Put the box up. I want a word.”

Ren quirked an eyebrow at him, but obliged. Seconds later, he was settled cross-legged on the floor of the police box, Moody’s foot braced on his thigh.

“Don’t move,” he directed. “This is going to take a bit. It’s gotta go right from the knee to the toes if it’s going to manage the incoming load.”

"Mm. How old were you, son?” the Head Auror asked him as he began to work.

"When..."

"When your handlers first sent you out on a job. Don't bother. I know what you are, if not how you got there. Your particular skills and the training required, in secret yet… That kind of training - the kind of people who could offer you that training - there’d be a price tag on it, even if only eventually.”

The biro paused, then resumed.

"I was eleven," Ren said, without looking up.  Moody raised his eyebrows.

“And your grandfather tolerated that?”

“He didn’t know. I was recruited young. Really young, and was enrolled in boarding school to boot. The kind of boarding school where parental signatures are not required, or even requested on the registration forms.” He switched biros. “My parents, never mind their signatures, at least in my instance… Were rendered moot on the day of my recruitment. Gramps looked for me, of course, but as I was dropped in an Unplottable location -made Unplottable myself in a very real way - it took him quite a long time to find me.”

"I can see how he ended up as a great killer bear, with that as incentive," the Auror conceded. "Are you actually still trying for the Change yourself, or have you already managed it?"

Ren blurred.

"Christ _Almighty,_ " Moody said crossly as he cast the cleaning spell on his trousers. "Arsehole."

"Don't tell anyone." Ren blurred back. "It could come in handy yet." He picked up his biro and continued on as if never interrupted.

"Uh huh. You get to the semis at the Invitationals, use that as your take-away move. Bets are down that you're keeping your form up your sleeve, but no one's picked this one yet.”

"No? What's first the list, then?"

"Hummingbird," Moody said. Ren offered him an odd look.

"Things move like a blur in every direction there is," the Auror explained. "You'd swear they outfly time. Mind their own business for the most part, but vicious when pressed... Psychopomps, they escort the souls of the dead home... Some even see them as messengers of the Divine. Mostly, though, they're unprepossessing. Nobody expects much of them at first glance, but you get a good look and they charm your socks off with their whimsy and beauty. Never mind that everyone’s bent on attracting them with sugar."

 _“Beauty?_ " He snorted with laughter.

"Just quoting the circulars.  Mostly... It's down to your attitude.”

"Huh?"

"They're a symbol of light and joy. New beginnings. Light's there, and as for the new beginnings… There’s your wife and all, and you've given the world one too. And you do it all with joy." He caught the look. "I was there, son, at your exams. All of them. The way you played it up with the kiddies, pulling that laugh with Gryffindor Tower... And your duel, all the jokes you threw in there... You were having a damned good time. A _damned_ good time. You _get_ it. That life's a battle, but a dance too."

"It's been a hard earned lesson. Took me awhile to get my footing. But I'm trying." He jumped violently as Moody reached out and lifted his chin. “Wha…”

"Pettigrew," the Head Auror said, looking him straight in the eye. "I don't have the right to ask... But it's personal, yeah? Whatever he did to Sadie Borgin... Make sure he knows I didn't appreciate it."

"I didn't appreciate it."

"Well, I _really_ didn't appreciate it," Moody said grimly. "Malfoy had Frank Longbottom. I had Sadie. Make sure that Malfoy knows, yeah? Make sure she gets her proper due."

"I will," Ren promised, and that was all. When the last sigil had been inked, he tucked his biros away and rose lightly to his feet. Alastor Moody rose to face him and held out his hand. Ren took it, but instead of shaking it, Moody just held it. His eye whirred slowly.

“You’re not quite what you seem, are you, son,” he observed. “All training and your particulars there aside.”

“Who is, really, when it comes right down to it?”

“You sure you can’t tell me?”

“One day, maybe.”

“Ah well.” Moody released his hand. “I’ll know soon enough.”

“They don’t hand out Grandmasteries just to fill quotas, you know?”

“You like your Muggle films,” he returned. “I’ve seen one or two in my time too. What’s the line I’m sure you know - ‘we’re men of action: lies do not become us?”

“I’m not…”

Ren stopped.

“You’re a good boy,” Alastor Moody said kindly. “A Warder through and through. You can’t protect everyone from everything, though, and I’m not stupid, either. You know it too, or you would never have suggested this to me. And it _was_ to me, wasn’t it?”

Ren conjured a second stool and sat down. Moody sat opposite again.

“What did Riddle do to me, son?” he asked directly. “Exactly? When he prepped me for possession? I know you looked; the Healer mentioned you stopped by a couple of times while I was still out.”

The Warder's shoulders tightened. Alastor Moody sat and watched him struggle for impassivity. The boy was good, he reflected, but not good enough. Or rather... Too good. Too good to be an Auror, really. Not soft-hearted, not suffering from any native inability, as Frank Longbottom would have said, To Get The Thing Done, but in the end, if not in the beginning or middle, the black of his armour just didn’t translate. True Aurors might fight for the light, but working nights, and working the night, did require a certain natural affinity... This one had just about as much of that as he himself had natural innocence.

“Things,” Ren said finally. “A lot of things. Your brain’s a complete minefield. I did my best, but going past the point would have just set everything off at once. In the end, I could only set the alarm back a bit. I planned to tell you this week - to come to the Ministry and invite you out for a coffee. But we've run out of time.”

“How far back are we talking?”

“Couple months. Maybe three. The first, major one would have gone off within a week of your possession if I hadn’t reset it. The rest were on a timer of sorts, to follow the first as cascade effects, once it had done.”

“And it wouldn’t have been pleasant?”

“No,” the Warder said. “No. I think… I think it’s reasonably safe to say… I think I can very, very safely say… That given what you’ve got going on there, or rather coming…” He rubbed his temple. “If it comes to that… We’ll go out for that coffee. Things I’d never thought I’d say in this lifetime, or any other… But taking care of the tab there for you, in advance, would _be_ Warding.”

Moody actually, actually blanched at that.

“Yeah,” the not-young not-assassin before him said. “That’s what I said.”

They sat for a few more minutes in silence. Finally Alastor Moody shook himself and sighed.

“Ah well,” he said briskly. “Thanks, eh?’

“For what?”

“Saving the world?”

The still-and-always Harry Potter smiled briefly. “My job,” he said. “Speaking of which, and before we head out… You got anything you can tell me that Luke can’t? On Riddle, that might come in handy at the appropriate moment?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, and now that you mention it, there is.  We would have covered it over that coffee next week, I’m sure, but what can you do. He likes him.”

“Uh?”

“Riddle. He likes Malfoy. Genuinely, genuinely cares for him. Malfoy never really processed that. I reckon he couldn’t afford to. I don’t know that Riddle ever processed it either, on the conscious level anyway. Where it counts, though, he thought... He really thought… That they were friends. Family, and not just through the Blacks. And that possession, you know… It went both ways. I got a hint or two there on how he thinks and that’s his major weakness. His fatal one, maybe, if you play it right, because it’s literally going to take a knife through the heart before he really, truly believes that our boy  doesn’t reciprocate.”

 

* * *

 

**"You are crazy," Ramone pronounced, with absolute conviction. "Officially crazy. Bonding with a phoenix has obviously burned out your poor brain."**

**"You have read ahead," the young Englishman pointed out. "You have the equivalent of two NEWTS already: Wandless Magic and Self-Transfiguration. That last is a simple pass/fail; either you are able to Change, or you or not."**

**"Neither of those courses are on the prerequisites list for the International School of Warding, Malfoy-from-England!"**

**"No, but they  will look** **_really_ ** **impressive as  extra-curricular achievements," his lover said frankly. "The ability to use wandless magic exclusively is a recognized measure of truly superior magical power and a near-unnaturally flexible mind, and both of those qualities are absolutely crucial to a truly superior Warder. Anyone many manage a little, or even a lot, but even graduates of Uagadou, trained from the time they are eleven, do not manage it exclusively and must carry a wand for their finer work.  It** **_will_ ** **get their attention when you take every one of your exams without the external focus, and as for Animagery... No matter the circumstances, you managed it at** **_twelve_** **, Carriera,** **_officially,_ ** **before you ever registered at Castelobruxo in your equivalent second year! They would definitely, definitely take that into account when assessing you as a conditionally accepted candidate, never mind your perfect grades to this point. All you have to do is gain the required NEWTS by the end of the school year."**

**Ramone looked at Silva helplessly.**

**"All I have to do," he repeated. "All I have to** **_do_ ** **? Luz. Seventh year at Castelobruxo is not seventh year at Hogwarts. It is not seventh year** **_anywhere,_ ** **and I will not be graded, will I, by the examiners by any other country's standards but our own, on the versions of those examinations set by our own government! If it were otherwise, if I had only to meet Hogwarts' standards, or any of the other schools',  it would be one thing, but it is not. Even if it were... I will be coming** **_back_ ** **here! I will** **_need_ ** **that extra knowledge that we may only attain here at Castelobruxo to survive, and I do not have it yet!"**

 **"If you get to Paris, you will have four extra years to learn it. And if you do not, you will be able to protect yourself with the skills you develop there, as you catch up here on your return. And you** **_will_ ** **be graded by other nations' standards, or could be, anyway. A great many countries do not permit their ISW candidates to be assessed by their own country's representatives on the seventh year tests because it is seen as potential conflict of interest. Considering the unusual circumstances of your application, the entrance committee of the ISW would probably even insist on administering them themselves."**

**Hernandez sat back in her chair, tapping her fingers.**

**"If," she said. "Hypothetically,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy. If...** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera were to agree to make this attempt... How long do you think it would take all of this retroactively dated correspondence you just mentioned to magically appear on my desk?"**

 **"One week,"** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy  said promptly. "If you are willing to escort me to Rio de Janeiro tomorrow morning, sir, and can have the documents - the documents, again, clearly dated last November, a month before the ISW application deadline - that I will request of you and** **_Senhora Professora_ ** **Hernandez readied and in my hands for delivery by then, then I, between your contacts and my own, will have everything we need to forward to the Board of Governors for consideration before then."**

**"And what - or rather who - is in Rio de Janeiro, my fine young Englishman?"**

**There was an extended, and rather delicate, pause.**

**"I really do think it best that I not tell you that," Lucius said. "At least not in front of the Headmistress or Ramone. They do not have those convenient natural blocks against mental intrusion that you do, after all, and as I will arrange this, I must also arrange it that nothing, in any way, may be traced back to me."**

**Silva's gaze narrowed on him again.**

**"You are** **_crazy_ ** **!" Ramone said to him again, plaintively. "It is** **_impossible!_ ** **I cannot learn the entire seventh year curriculum in less than two months, Luz! It is not something that I would be able to manage completely on my own even if I had the whole year; the material is simply too complex, so it must be, in all ways, a cooperative learning experience! And it would be on my own; you cannot help me;** **_Tio_ ** **will not be able to help me; he has classes and other students... Professora Hernandez must remain completely neutral... Who is left?"**

**"Ah. Well, as for that... I will need a yes or no from you first. Are you willing to trust me?"**

**"I have no choice," he said hopelessly. "There is no other...  But there are so many things that could go wrong!"**

**"And you do not need to think on them. Any of them. That is my job. All you need to think on from this point on, Carriera-from-Brazil, is doing the two things in the world that you do best. Learning, and in that applied context - speed racing."**

**_"Tio?"_ ** **he appealed to his uncle. "What do you think?"**

**Antonio Silva kissed his nephew's eyes, his forehead, his cheeks.**

**"I think that only Jesus can help us now, my Ramonzinho," he said quietly. "That being said... He** **_has_ ** **sent us an angel, mm? Luis is correct. This is his jungle, and in his jungle, there is nothing he need fear, even now. I have seen it myself. I trust him with more than myself. I trust him with** **_you_** **."**

**Ramone sat up at that, and braced himself.**

**"Two** **_months?"_ ** **he muttered one last time. "** ** _Nossa Senhora_** **. This is insane. Very well, my Luz. I put myself in your good hands."**

**Lucius nodded, and tipped his wand out of his sleeve.**

**"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"**

**A huge, silvery stallion appeared, whickering and nosing at him. He petted it affectionately. "I have a message for you to deliver, my friend," he told it, and murmured in its ear... Seconds later, it galloped off.  He Summoned a pad and pencil, and began to jot in concentration.**

 

* * *

 

 

Ren gazed at him, astonished. No, absolutely _flabbergasted_. Moody smiled a little at him.

‘Malfoy pegged him good,” he said. “Straight up. Pegged what he really wanted; a real family, just not a father or mother or anything with the word ‘parent’ in the title. So… From day one, he _was_ what he wanted. Not _became_ what he wanted, but _was_ what he wanted - a doting younger brother. One that Riddle could dictate to, delegate to, vent to in his own way, who worshipped and adored him… and that, with those commonalities of unworthy parents, problematic lines, lack of other siblings, and sisters in common as wives…. That he could not just trust, but identify with.”

“And you’re saying that Riddle never picked up on what he was up to? Once?”

“Of course he did. We all did. Everyone in the Dark Court had their assigned and dictated roles to play, though, and  yes, everyone knew everyone else was acting a part, or parts, and what everyone else’s lines were, never mind their entrance and exit cues, but that didn’t make the play, or rather the ongoing farce, any less the thing. What  no one ever realized though, because a) the play _was_ the thing again, and b)  because it simply shouldn’t have been possible for a creature like that to love anybody… Was that, on Riddle’s side anyway, their purported dynamic - their relationship - eventually became real.”

The former Harry Potter actually clutched his hair. “You’re saying,” he repeated. “That Tom Riddle… _Tom Riddle_ … _loves_ Luke?”

“Mm. Oh, not like that. As a brother again. It’s why Bellatrix hated him so much, see? Why she could never let their rivalry go. When she first mentioned him to Riddle… I was there. Recruiting meeting at Casa Black; Malfoy not even fifteen, and Riddle said to Bellatrix, more to drown out the starry-eyed squelching of her knickers  than anything else, ‘tell us about your extended family and the potentials there, Miss Black; let’s begin with your sister’s young man.’ And she did. Went on for a solid hour at least, outlining every detail - every last excruciating detail -  of her ongoing feud with AllBallsNoBrains Malfoy, and how he was nothing but a blight in her life. An hour of that, he should have been ready to AK her just to shut her up, but he just sat and listened, and in the end… It all backfired on her, big time.  She could see  it in his face as soon as she finally ran out of steam that he found just the idea of him interesting - a young, essentially untrained and malleable boy with his kind of mind, his power, his strategic inclinations, his social connections, and yes, beauty and charisma too - and she realized she’d put her foot in it, oh yes she did, and she tried to cover, but it was too late. She’d been hoping that he’d choose her as his right hand, see? Not just as a potential consort, but as his co-ruler. If she’d kept her mouth shut, it might very well have worked, if only for lack of viable, and in his eyes always preferable, male alternatives. As it was… She handed him her alternative on a silver platter.”

“What about you?” Ren couldn’t help but ask as he lowered his hands. “You were right in there with him, why didn’t he look to you for the job?”

“My parents were Aurors. He trusted me, but he didn’t trust that. It wasn’t a weakness, but it was a potential weakness, and that being the case, I was never destined to go higher than third-in-command. Also,” he added. “Malfoy had money. I didn’t. Riddle craved money and the status it brought almost as much as he craved family, and Malfoy was pegged as a potential International Dueling Master besides. I was good, but he was better, even then. And  Riddle always, always, went for the better option as it became available. Only it was what he deserved, yeah? What he rated.”

Ren nodded.

“Anyway,” Moody continued. “What I’m saying is this: Riddle won’t have given up on him. His subconscious won’t have, anyway. It can’t. It’s fixated on him good and hard, and so he’s going to do everything he can when he gets back, no matter the evidence to the contrary,  to convince himself that Malfoy is still on his side. He’ll even want to see the removal of the Dark Mark as a strategic move on his part to reassure you. He’ll be _able_ to do that, because  he both wants to believe it, and has no absolutely irrefutable first-hand proof to the contrary, see? Malfoy made sure there wouldn’t be, after all, all these years, and whatever it was that the son-of-a-bitch  got from my head, the fact that Malfoy was actually a spy wasn’t one of them. I suspected he might be, but I wasn’t absolutely sure till he confided it to me earlier tonight, in private.  So he’ll be able to lie to himself right to the point where he can’t. That’s your absolute best weapon, Weasley-Cartwright, maybe even the crucial one… But it comes with a deadline. And that deadline’s coming up fast, so you'll need to be prepared.”

“Spell it out for me, man,” Ren ordered. “I could figure it out, but we’re out of time.”

“Malfoy’s Minister of Magic now,”  Moody obliged. “And is guaranteed as such till after the Global Invitationals, when the new election is called. Riddle will think that it’s a sign from his right hand, that he’s in position - top position - and ready for him to come in and step up so that they can sweep Europe together. You’ve got your window, son. He’ll be back sometime within the next six weeks, if it’s at all possible - guaranteed. And he’ll know the Opprobrium curse is on him, and if Niss isn’t pregnant by then… By you… Now that Bellatrix is gone, you’ll know exactly, exactly, where Riddle’s mind, never mind his cock, will be going, if he ever manages to get Malfoy alone even for ten minutes. Hell, even that… He won’t see it as humiliation; he’s that far gone. He’ll figure it as the ultimate quite likely self-inflicted gift to him on Malfoy’s part. Everyone knows, after all, that the Dark Lord has an almost pathological aversion to blonde women, and that way, he wouldn’t actually have to screw Niss himself to produce his Heir.”

“What’s he got against blondes?”

“His mother was one, and so was the matron of that there orphanage where he grew up.”

‘Luke is blond, though.”

“Yeah, but he’s not a woman. It’s gender-specific.”

“Mm. So how’s he going to explain me?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” Moody shrugged. “And even if you do knock Niss up before the Invitationals and before he comes back... He’ll just chalk it up to Malfoy providing him with his major enemy’s firstborn child as hostage.”

Ren ran a hand over his cowlick at that.  Moody patted his cheek. “I know you’re not worried on Malfoy,” he said. “I’m not worried on Malfoy. But… Constant vigilance and all that good shit, yeah? It’s good to be able to have all possible perspectives to work with, when you’re planning your raid.”

“Yeah. I know that one. Thanks.”

“My job.” He, too, straightened his shoulders, and nodded down at his inked lower leg. “For the record now. Odds?”

“I’ve done my best,” the Master-Adept said. “And it’s a good best. Better than anyone else could do, anywhere.”

“And I don’t suppose you can reassure me that it won’t hurt if it all goes to hell?”

“No. As long as we’re being men of action… I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Ah well. What can you do. Tell Nymphadora I love her, then, and that she can bloody well name her first son after his grandfather. Teddy’s alright, but there’s always going to be a bigger bear in the family now, and Lyall Lupin didn’t deserve a gravestone for his stupidity, much less the honour.”

“Why _do_ you insist on calling her Nymphadora?” Ren asked, diverted.

“Because it’s her name,” Alastor Moody said matter-of-factly. “And she’s a Metamorphmagus, and she needs someone to remind her of it. Her body is shifting constantly, and on that really deep, autonomic psychological rather than physical cellular level... She never quite knows who she is as a result. So… I remember for her.  When she hears me say her name, her full name, no diminutives or variants, and whether she likes the sound of the syllables or not… She remembers herself. And she’s never doubted that I like her, so when I call her that… When she hears me call her that… She knows on that autonomic level again that I like her just the way she is. For who she is,  not just for what she can do, or how the given moment or hour demands. Everybody needs someone like that. Someone to see beyond the face to the soul beneath. Who sees, when it comes right down to it… Only the soul. When it comes down to it, nobody, really, can ever hope to live without that. You can survive without it, but that’s just breathing, really. Living… Really living - that’s a bit more of a trick when it comes right down to it, innit?”

“I suppose it is, at that.” Lawrence Domitian Weasley-Cartwright reached around him, and put his hand on the doorknob. “Moody.”

“Mm?”

He hesitated. Moody waited.

“Tell my wife what you just told me,” Ren said. “When you meet her? That bit about living. Properly. And tell her… Now that I’ve finally figured it out… That I won’t ever, ever settle for anything less.”

“Will do.” The Auror patted his shoulder. “How will I know who she is again?”

“You won’t be able to miss her. She’s just that kind of woman. If you have any doubts at all, which you won’t, check for the butter on her elbow and the broomstick strapped to her back. Oh, and don’t piss her off at any point or you’ll be fending off your own bogies for all eternity.”

Moody laughed. “Sounds like my kind of girl. Sadie’s probably sitting with a cuppa taking note of her technique right now.”

“Tell her to keep an eye out down here too,”  Ren advised. “Never mind Black and Snape’s party plans, if I find Pettigrew first, he’s going to get the very first live-action preview of just what Brazilian wandering spiders think of rats.”

And the two greatest Head Aurors of their respective Times and Related Dimensional Stories grinned at each other, stepping out of the police box and back into the milling heart of their preparing armies. Said grins immediately disappeared at the looks of grim and abject, barely concealed terror on the faces of all around... Even Andromeda Tonks looked unnerved. Lucius stood at the front, or rather knelt, examining a huge sheaf of fresh photos handed him by a half-dozen neat, nondescript house-elves as they held them up for him, one at a time, and spoke in low urgent tones.

“What’s going on,” Moody barked. “Report!”

“Uncle Luke’s just got fresh reports back on the movement in Newport, Mad-Eye,” Tonks said. “He took six of his specials with him when he went just now, and left them with instructions to report back if anything changed. It… They… Things… Have. Changed, I mean.”

“For fuck’s sake, girl!” He strode over and grabbed a handful of the photos, scanning them. His magical eye spun so rapidly it nearly smoked. “What the bloody…” There was a quick, sharp crack behind him, his eye swerved. “Oh for… Where’s he gone now?”

“Sit, please,” Lucius said to the hordes, ignoring that as he stood and collected the photos. “All of you, and we shall discuss how we shall accommodate these new factors...”

 

* * *

 

**Carmen Lopez stood, fresh from the Quidditch pitch and resplendent in sweat-soaked and grass-stained short breeches and singlet. She eyed Lucius distrustfully, broom in one hand and Beater’s bat in the other. He bowed politely.**

**"Miss Lopez," he said. "Thank you for coming so promptly. I have a question for you."**

**"I am sure you do." She turned to address the priest. "Am I truly obliged to answer him, Padre? I have come here because he said that he wished to speak to me on an urgent matter in the Headmistress' office, but if Jesus Himself is not ordering it, I am afraid that I must declare myself singularly uninclined."**

**"Sit down, Carmenzinha.** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy, what have I told you on that inappropriately lordly demeanor of yours?"**

**"She has a bat!" he defended himself. "My only defense against it is my ability to intimidate!"**

**"Then your angel must be very unhappy indeed," Carmen said, but sat. "Since it is so completely ineffective a weapon. What do you want,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy."**

**"I would like to know if the students in seventh year here at Castelobruxo have a formal and structured and scheduled cooperative revising system for their end-of-year exams."**

**"Of course we do. We are setting up the schedules this week, of study groups and  peer remedial testing."**

**"May I ask you for a copy of it once it has been set, as pertains to these classes?"**

**She frowned at him as he handed her the scribbled page.**

**"What is this about?" she asked. "And why are you in charge of this discussion?"**

**"Because, the kindly provided location aside, the Headmistress and Padre Silva may not officially be involved. We have a problem, Miss Lopez," the young Englishman said precisely. "A vital one. You may not think it my problem, or my place to insert myself as part of the solution, but the fact... The truth... Is this, it is a problem that requires our mutual cooperation if we are to surmount it." He shook his head as her slim jaw hardened. "I know you do not like me, but this is not about me. If it were I would not bother, for if we succeed, our success must be marked in no major part by** **_my_ ** **apparent lack of involvement, and that would not exactly feed my need for validation, would it?** **_I will not be remembered for this_** **.** **_You_ ** **will not be remembered for this, not in the crucial context, anyway. Our actions will be remembered by no one but your God, if He even exists. But that does not matter. It is a vital matter, and as it affects the well-being of people I have grown to love in the here and now, which is really all any of us have when it comes right down to it... All that matters is that we do succeed."**

**"What is this about," she said again. Lucius glanced at Silva for his nod of consent, and handed the three documents over silently. She glanced over them, one after another. By the time she reached the end of the third...**

**"God save us," she whispered. "** ** _Nao. Nao_** **." She stared at Ramone, her eyes wide with panic, then turned back, frantically, reading and rereading and rereading again. "Jesus, have mercy. Blessed Mother, pray for us all, now and at the hour of...** **_Nao,_ ** **Padre. They cannot mean this!"**

**"They do, my daughter," the priest said. "I am so sorry. They do."**

**"Is there** **_nothing_ ** **you can do?" It was a positive wail.**

**"** **_Nao_ ** **. Ramonzinho is being called forth from me as payment for my sins. Whether he stays, or agrees to go... The end result will be the same. One way or another, whether it be this July, September or after his projected graduation next year... They will have him. And once they do... He will not be allowed to remain my Ramonzinho, and all of my family will truly be lost."**

**The pages fell to the floor. Lopez' hands covered her eyes, she shook her head frantically again. "This is my fault," she said. "This is my fault, if I had not...** **_Nao_** **, this is not the time. It is not the** **_time_** **." Lucius watched as she physically and mentally shoved her terror and agitation aside, dropping her hands and turning to face him directly. "What must I do," she demanded of him fiercely. "Tell me what I must do, and I will do it.** **_Tell_ ** **me!"**

**He outlined his plan quickly. She stared at him, mouth ajar.**

**"You are crazy," she said finally, as flatly as Ramone had. "I am sorry, Carriera, and I do not say this as reverse psychology... Even you are not that good. To pass all these courses is one thing; that you could accomplish, I am sure, but with highest distinction - over ninety five percent - in every one? It is impossible."**

**"It is," Lucius agreed. "If he were to attempt it alone. But he will not be attempting it alone. Every study session, every remedial session... He will be learning the material from the beginning as you and your year revises in preparation for your own examinations. With all of you, from all of you, as your student. And you must be the one to tell your classmates that they will do it, Miss Lopez, you see? I am an outsider. An intruder. Tolerated, at best, even now. They will not listen to me, so my name must not even come into it. I will be his supportive friend and our behind-the-scenes strategist, and Professora Hernandez and Padre Silva will help as they can, in every way they can without giving themselves away... But** **_you_ ** **must be our General."**

**Carmen ran her hands through her hair, sticky with sweat from the pitch. He could almost hear her mind racing.**

**"What of everything else," she said. "The fees, the application, the visas... All of the bureaucratic and political arrangements?"**

**"I will take care of all of that. The only task you have is to inform your classmates that the time has come to atone for their sins against Ramone in a practical sense. If that does not work... Remind them that his brother Miguel was one of them: one of you - and that though they do not remember him, Ramone's successful graduation with his brother's class will mark his true day of memorial."**

**The silence stretched again…. The young woman’s jaw set in decision.**

**"** ** _Muito bueno_** **," she said. "** ** _Senhor_ ** **Carriera, prepare to suffer. It is not going to be a remotely pleasant two months, I promise you. As for you,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy... You excel at Potions and Transfiguration, I understand? Quite above your grade level in both, even by our standards here at Castelobruxo, I have heard?"**

**"Yes," he said cautiously.**

**"** ** _Bueno_** **. We will be recruiting you for the cause, then. We have several very weak potioneers in this year's class, and several more who find Transfiguration on ongoing and unreasonable challenge. If you agree to tutor them in their remedial sessions, at least to the point where you yourself can manage, it will free up our best students to work with** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera from the beginning."**

**"Of course."**

**"Whine with it," she ordered him. "At least at me, if not the necessity. I despise you, lest you have forgotten, and my colleagues will work all the harder if the reward is seeing England annoyed. I would, and will."**

**"I am," he assured her in his best bored drawl, "thoroughly,** **_thoroughly_ ** **dismayed at the prospect, Miss Lopez."**

**She rose to her feet, and patted his cheek. It was not particularly gentle... He lifted an arrogant lip at her. She blurred... And he blinked as the little bird with wide eyes and that ridiculous orange and blue crest hovered before him. She blurred back.**

**"You are not entirely hopeless," she conceded as she shouldered her bat. "Something good is bound to come from Nazareth after all, if only once every two thousand years."**

**"Wiltshire, actually. Did Padre ever tell you my Animagus form?"**

_**'** _ **"Of** ******course. Not that he had to inform me after your hair grew back. It is quite obvious now, to everyone."**

 ** _"What? Everyone_ ** **knows what I am?"**

 **"** ** _You_** **have truly not realized it?"**

**He glared. She smirked at him as she sauntered out. "Bint," he muttered. Silva slapped his head, wandlessly and hard. "OW! Sir! I was practicing my resentment!"**

**"Practice it more politely," his phoenix advised. "That was completely uncalled for,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy. Jesus is not pleased. Now. What letters and documents will you need from all of us before we go to Rio de Janeiro tomorrow?"**

**Lucius reached again for the pad of paper. As he began to write...**

**"Up,** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera," Hernandez ordered Ramone. "We will go the side room here, and I will administer your sixth year Transfiguration practical."**

**_"Now?"_ **

**"You are not prepared?"**

**Ramone looked most affronted at that. "Of course I am. But what of the written exam?"**

**"I will have it ready for you in class tomorrow. Come."**

**He trailed after her obediently, glancing back over his shoulder as Lucius scribbled intently. Silva came to sit beside him, putting an arm around him and kissing his cheek as he worked.**

**"What - or who - is in Rio de Janeiro, my heart?" he asked as the side door closed.**

**"The goblins," he said. Silva eyed him strangely.**

**"Gringotts International is not under governmental jurisdiction in any country," Lucius explained, not ceasing his writing a moment. "The goblin nation, in fact, has permission, or rather is permitted, to operate completely independently from the human Magical world as long as they do not break any of the ICW's laws. They comply because there is only one price they will pay if they break those laws: immediate global censure." He licked the pencil and scribbled again. "As a result, and because they want and trust no part of anything human... They maintain their own equivalent social and cross-continental community infrastructure, including an extremely efficient postal delivery system that they use to conduct matters of business amongst the various tribes and branches of the business. Not many humans know if its existence at all, even on the highest levels, but my mother's family, the Burgesses, worked through it regularly. They have been the foremost magical engineers in the eastern hemisphere since the fourteen hundreds, and as their interests, and the goblins' as a major source of their craftsmen and suppliers, cross quite regularly, they eventually became privy to the secret."**

**"And what kind of price will they demand for their services?"**

**"Money is not the only currency I have at my disposal, and in light of the current and developing political climate in Europe, nowhere near the most valuable. Goblins are entirely, entirely motivated by self-interest, and the only power they have anywhere is economic. They will, as will everyone else, know that war is coming in Europe,  and will have been watching the key figures carefully. They know of me, of course, and where I am likely headed, and may very well prove inclined to offer me a small favour or two in exchange for my promise of applied understanding in the future on the importance they place on non-interference and their autonomy. As for the recipients of those messages..."**

**He pushed the list over. Silva read the first name on the list. His eyebrows flew almost off his head.**

**"Fleamont Potter," he read. "Henry Potter's son?"**

**"My mother's godfather," he confirmed. "He gave me my first dueling lessons. We've maintained an extremely and intentionally discreet relationship over the last two or three years - discreet enough so that anyone looking would likely consider us quite thoroughly estranged, particularly considering my purported views on the blood-based natural hierarchy - but in actuality, we are quite fond of each other. He has always maintained that I am far more my mother's son than my father's, and..." He paused. "Wait. Do you know him? Personally?"**

**"I do not. Inez does. She met him on her ISEP year again. He and his wife invited her to spend the Christmas and Easter holidays with them at the request of Filius Flitwick, the Charms Master. He and Fleamont went to school together, and as it was inadvisable for her to remain at the school over the holidays, considering Riddle's obsession with her and his own predilection for staying on at those times, arrangements were made. What part does he play in this?"**

**"The major one. He knows everyone, both in his own right and through his father's political network, and everyone knows him, and yes, respects him, even those who don't always agree with his political agendas. He is in a singularly unique position to present and promote the urgency of Ramone's case with the Directors of the ISW, particularly once  he knows that he has someone on the inside - your contact - to work with.  I am also going to ask him to pay Ramone's application fees and tuition for me, discreetly and via a retroactively established scholarship that I will refund him once I return. He would also, I know, be more than willing to talk him up a bit among his political acquaintances as a young prodigy who intends to attempt to take seventh year in eight weeks. It will provoke interest and admiration and allow Brazilian governmental officials to preen over the fact that they are putting forth such an unprecedented candidate. While he takes care of that, your contact will likely be in the best position to point out that a neutral body of examiners might be appropriate for his final exams, so that no one will be able to say that Brazil has been tempted to bolster his results out of self-interest."**

**"What will you say of why you are helping this young man?" the priest asked. "If he asks you?"**

**Lucius considered that, tapping his pencil.**

**"Nothing," he said decisively. "Not now that I know Professora Hernandez knows him. We will simply ask her to write him a  letter too, that I will say that I am forwarding for her on her most urgent and private request.  He will not have forgotten her, I am sure, and in terms of repaying him the scholarship monies and application fees... He will likely tell me not to worry on it at all. He can more than afford it, and he likes to sponsor and promote youthful talent. I will, over the years, be positioned to pay him back in other anonymous ways. Yes. That is the best plan."**

**"You are sure that the goblins will cooperate?"**

**"Yes. As I am positioned to do them a favour, I will be in a position to withhold my favour. I am not about to tell them what is in the letters, of course," he said. "Would you ward them so that there can be no interference?"**

**Silva waved that off.  He looked anxious though, and drawn. Lucius put his pencil down and stood, pulling him up in turn into a firm hug.**

**"Time for another leap of faith, my phoenix," he said. "Trust me, as I trust you.** **_I will not fail you_ ** **. It is not arrogance, at least not in this instance. It is the plain and simple truth.”**

**Returning from the library late that night, Ramone watched Lucius, seated on his bed, jotting busily with one hand as he turned pages with the other.**

**"You have both hands," he noted.**

**"Your uncle agreed to lift the restrictions there for the remainder of my time here, as long as I continue to write with my left. Did you get the books you need?"**

**"Uh? Yes, they are all here." He set them down on the chair, and came to sit opposite him.**

**"Luz," his lover said.**

**"Mm?"**

**"What will happen if I fail? What kind of person do you think they will make of me?"**

**Lucius’s biro stilled. He looked up from his notes and regarded the young man before him.**

**"Ramone," he said. "What do you think your wand could, and would do... More to the point, would not do... To protect you from that fate?"**

**"My** **_wand_** **?"**

**"Yes.” He nodded to the slim thorn on the night table. “Your wand. The one whose only purpose in existence is to protect you from harm? If you truly believe that alteration is harmful, it will not allow you to be altered. I have no idea, none, how it would manage it, but if you are that worried that it will not recognize the fact in the moment, as it did not recognize that the suppressant could prove fatal... Tell it so. Now."**

**"It is, when it comes right down to it, only a stick of wood, my Luz."**

**"A very focused stick of wood. And do not take this the wrong way, Carriera-from-Brazil, but we can use every advantage we can get. Two months is not a great deal of time, and I am confident, but I also firmly believe in maximizing every possible resource we may have at our disposal in the meantime, however far-fetched it may seem."**

**"There is that." Ramone took his wand from the table and held it in his hands.**

**"I do not wish to be altered at all,** **_Senhor_ ** **Wand," he addressed it. "I wish very much, in all truth, to remain exactly as the great God intended. I would, therefore, request that if you detect anyone - or any** **_thing_** **; the people here, after all, have that habit of changing into all manners of non-human creatures at the drop of a pen -  directing their attentions my way in order to alter my current state of being, that you divert their attentions? And considering what is at stake... I will tell you this too, heh, though perhaps Jesus would disapprove. I am not terribly fussed on how you manage it."**

**"Very good," Lucius congratulated him, and set his books and notes aside with a wave of his wand. Ramone got up and came to lie beside him, huddling in and pressing his face into his shoulder.**

**"I am so afraid, my Luz," he said, muffled. "I am so tired of being so afraid of everything. Of all things. Do you think that if they were to alter me and I were no longer myself, I would forget what it is to be afraid all the time?"**

**"I do not know, but as you are never going to find out, we are just going to find other ways to treat your chronic insecurities. Here, let us just dispose of this, and this, and..."**

**"How did your Transfiguration practical go?" he asked as he kissed his way down the thin, hard belly.**

**"My... What?" Ramone jerked violently and moaned.**

**"Transfiguration practical. How did it go."**

**"You are asking me this** **_now?"_ ** **His voice cracked on the last syllable.**

**"Mmhmm."**

**"It went..." He gasped and jerked again. "Very, very well.  As did my Charms practical that followed, after dinner, and the Wandless Magic demonstration - that saved time, as my professor there simply came in and watched as our Charms professor conducted my exa... Ahhhhhh...."**

**"Ambidextry," Lucius informed him. "A statistically rare and exceedingly wonderful thing."**

**Ramone just growled, flexed, and flipped him on his back, moving lithely over him as his mouth came down hard.**

 

* * *

 

"The Welsh teams are not the only ones involved here," the Minister of Magic explained.  “McNair, Carrow, King and Driscoll act, we believe, as the centralized kingpins of Great Britain’s gambling network by virtue of their control over the European Feral Collective, but Scotland, Ireland, and England all have their own versions of the Junior Quidditch leagues, and all are involved, if only peripherally, one way or the other. It is quite possible that the larger network extends throughout Magical Europe and into the Nomaji world  on several continents, and that they have all decided to arrange this opportunity to take out the biggest wildcard in the history of the Global Invitationals - the Master-Adept. After the events of the last week, you see, the amounts of money riding on the newly projected and anticipated outcome is quite simply beyond comprehension, and the only way, the _only_ way to adjust the odds again to the preferred status quo is to eliminate that wildcard before the event actually takes place.  Calum King has particularly entrenched ties all throughout Africa, and as that is the case, and as Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs is representing Kenya… He would be particularly invested there, and is therefore and perforce the key. Cut him down and we start a cascade that could, conceivably, bring down the entire mountain.”

Arthur Weasley sat back and rubbed his lips, regarding the photos on the walls as an equation that no matter how hard he tried, simply couldn’t… wouldn’t… balance.

"There's no way," he said finally. “If they really do have that many people to work with, what we see here isn’t even the beginning of what’s waiting for us.”

"We’re all set," Ren said to Lucius, cracking back in abruptly. Everyone nearly jumped out of their skins.

“What the fuck?” Moody snapped. “Where the hell did you come from? No, where did you go?”

“How many?” Lucius asked Ren, ignoring that.

“Fifteen hundred to start. Another three thou in the wings as necessary.”

“WHAT?”

Lucius Malfoy smiled grimly.

"Our enemies are not the only ones with access to unanticipated reinforcements,” he said. “With the help of the particular allies, my fellow countrymen, the battle _will_ be ours.”

“You’d best tell them now, then, Luke,” Niss said. “They’re not accustomed to thinking of them in the allied context, after all.”

“Of course. Lawrence, if you would? They fight with us on your word and by your arrangement, after all, and your reputation will reassure them on the subject, I believe. Even I would have a difficult time putting aside skepticism on my motives were I listening to myself explaining the situation.”

Ren nodded, and rose to his feet, standing not behind the podium again, but beside it.

“You’re all wondering who Minister Malfoy’s source was,” he addressed them. “The details comes with a bit of a back story, and we’ll get to that. First off though… I know none of you know anything of me, really. That you might find this all a bit hard to believe. I want you to understand though, that this mission tonight… It didn’t actually start tonight. It started last September, when the certain individual approached Minister Malfoy, and informed him of a concerning event that he didn’t feel comfortable addressing with any other single human. There was no other single human, he said, that he felt would take his concerns for what they were and address them while maintaining respect for that source.”

Brows furrowed all around.

“You’re gonna have to trust me on this one,” he said directly. “My word as an International Warder… As Master-Adept...There is nothing, nothing, to worry on here. History will be made tonight, in far more ways than the obvious. In a way… History will begin tonight.”

“A people without history,” Charlie Weasley-Cartwright quoted, from his position now seated on the refreshment table. “Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern/of timeless moments.” No one could miss the joint fond look that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy offered him at that.

“Eliot again?” Narcissa inquired. He smiled at her.

“‘Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning’,” he agreed. “Go on, Dash.”

“History is now and England,” Ren quoted, and called - “Vinny!”

The house-elf popped in. His eyes were as grim as the dawn ahead, his little mouth set. He was clad not in a tea towel, but in a small long-sleeved shirt, a shining round shield strapped to his chest that looked like it might just once have been a hub-cap, and little black leather trousers and boots. The gold hoop glistened in his ear. He looked surprisingly formidable.

“Your source is a _house-elf_ ?” Kingsley Shacklebolt was taken aback. “A _free_ house-elf?”

“Vinny,” Vinny informed him testily before Ren could answer. “Is not _free_. Vinny is, in fact, the Masters Weasley-Cartwright’s new Head House-Elf. And before anyone is starting to blither on on the really, really, _very_ tired subject of Vinny’s apparent clothes… These is not clothes. These is armour. He is being ready, Master Ren,” he informed his new employer. “Shall Vinny be bringing him in, then?”

“You’re so fucking awesome,” Ren said whimsically to him. “You really are, you know that? Yes, please.’

“Vinny is doing his best,” Vinny said modestly. “And Master Ren is being fairly fucking awesome himself, mm? One moment.”

He winked, and popped out.

 

* * *

 

**_May 5, 1971  
_ **

**_Ten Days Later_ **

 

**Lucius sat on the long sofa in the Headmistress' office between Ramone and Carmen Lopez, fidgeting (internally, no one present needed to see him sweat) as Ramone turned the two envelopes in his hands. Both bore the personal seal of no less an auspicious personage than the President of Magical Brazil himself.**

**"Just open the damned thing, Carriera," Lopez said. She was in human form, but radiated the impression of nervously ruffling feathers from every pore. "Either it will change nothing, or everything."**

**Ramone  braced himself and tore open the first.**

**"** ** _Senhor_ ** **Carriera, we are delighted to inform you that you have passed all of your sixth year exams with highest honours..."**

 **"Not** **_that_ ** **one!" Lopez said impatiently. "The** **_other_ ** **one!”  Ramone just sat, paralyzed again. She growled and grabbed, tearing it open.**

**"Dear Mr. Carriera,' she read. "Upon review of the correspondence sent us and the confirmed details of your conditional acceptance of your enrollment at the International School of Warding in Paris, France, in September, Brazil is pleased to offer you its warm  congratulations and its full support."**

**"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**

**"We look forward with great interest and anticipation to the results of your qualifying seventh year exams at the end of June, and are confident that you will succeed in not only their stated prerequisites, but in all of your other examinations as well, as you are currently enrolled through Castelobruxo School."**

**"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**

**"Congratulations again at this most unprecedented of accomplishments. Cordially yours..."**

**"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**

**A flicker of ... something... passed over Antonio Silva's face.**

**"May I see the letter, Ramonzinho," he said. Ramone tossed it over and screamed again, grabbing Carmen and dancing her around the room. She squawked and swatted him, but capitulated, laughing riotously. Lucius came to sit beside Silva, reading over his shoulder. Ramone sat up at their expressions.**

**"What is it?" he asked, puzzled. "This is what you were anticipating, is it not, Luz? It has all fallen out exactly as we hoped for!"**

**"It has," his lover said. "And it has not. Am I misreading this, sir?"**

**_"Nao,"_ ** **Silva said. "You are not," and proceeded, quite deliberately to voice, in most measured, calm and fluent accents, every syllable of a (mostly) unfamiliar and rather extensive vocabulary list that Lucius was quite sure would not be condoned by Jesus.**

 **"Padre** **_Silva!"_ ** **Inez snapped. He kept right on going.**

 **_"Tio?"_ ** **Ramone said uncertainly. "** ** _Tio,_ ** **what is it? What is wrong?"**

**"Ramone," Lucius said. "How many sixth year courses, exactly, were you enrolled in through Castelobruxo when you started taking your exams this last week?"**

**"Uh? Fourteen. You know this, Luz."**

**"Not** **_at_ ** **Castelobruxo," he clarified. "** ** _Through_ ** **Castelobruxo."**

**Ramone's smile froze.**

**"Carriera?" Lopez sat up, alarmed. "What is it? What does he mean?"**

**"I had not intended to finish them all before I graduated," he said. "They are... I had the list of ones to complete before the end of my seventh year, and the others... There is no technical time limit in remote courses of study. I had thought... I planned to sit the exams there eventually, in the two or three years following my graduation, but right now, they were for interest's sake only. There are so many others offered elsewhere, and..."**

**"Explain," Lopez snapped to Lucius. "** ** _Now_ ** **!"**

**"They are supporting his conditional acceptance at the ISW," Lucius said. "On the condition that he succeeds in all of his registered courses, including those in which he is taking by correspondence, up to the end of seventh year, by the date of exams. Not just the ten required, but all of them. How many?"**

**"I..." Ramone’s dark face was ghost pale. "Luz, I..."**

**"How.** **_Many_ ** **? I cannot chart out your study plan till I know!"**

 **"You cannot chart it," he said. Silva, having finally run out of words, was sitting, elbows on his knees and hands over his face. Lucius could feel the rising heat radiating from his body.  "It is... It is not just impossible, Malfoy-from-England. It goes beyond impossibility. I cannot do it. I cannot. There is no... It is a question of physical** **_time_** **. Even if I worked twenty four hours a day for the next seven and a half weeks, with no time taken to sleep at all..."**

**Lucius closed his eyes.**

**"How many," he repeated.**

**"Including the fourteen I just took... Only ten of which I intended to sit for accreditation in June..."**

**Lucius could hear the individual heartbeats, it seemed, of each of the five individuals in the room.**

**"Twenty three," Ramone said flatly. "I am enrolled in twenty three classes through Castelobruxo, Malfoy-from-England. Fourteen here, taught on the campus itself, and nine others through correspondence, from those other schools of magic that offer them as remote options."**

 

* * *

 

 

The individual standing next to him was extremely short, ancient and grizzled, clad in a three piece (scaled to size) suit that put Remus Lupin’s, if not to shame, at least in strangled, desperate competition. There was an accounting pencil jammed behind his ear. He looked around sourly, not noticeably impressed or intimidated.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ren said formally. “May I have the pleasure and honour of introducing to you all the Head of Gringotts International: the King of the Goblin Nation, Ragnuk the Eighth?”

“What?” Sirius said, shocked. “ _What?_ But… Pu.. Ren… The goblins tried to _kill_ you! To assassinate you, to…”

“Naw.” Ren waved that off dismissively. “That was just a misunderstanding. Well, not a misunderstanding, just part of the long-term plan that culminates tonight. All’s good, really.”

“Um. And again... _What?!_ ”

"It's all part of a long-term operation. The attack in Edinburgh on the tenth anniversary of Riddle's defeat was the public trigger. We were aware before then that the cabals were involved. That there needed to be a event that would bring us to this point. The timing of the birth of the lethifolds - the last wave, and it _would_ have been the last wave... Provided it. Malfoy and I have worked together with those contacts to coordinate events here. We apologize for the deception, but..."

"Explain," Moody ordered. Ren closed his eyes a moment, sorting carefully through the pre-arranged details of the story, and his memories of the relevant meeting and conversation, less than eight hours before.

*

**_Gringotts: Bucharest_ **

**_Romania_ **

_You have a choice to make,” Ren said to the small-and-square-shouldered, dour individual sitting before him. One quick trip to Gringotts; London and an even more quickly delivered message sent by Priority One Postal Portkey had borne immediate and gratifying results. That handily pre-arranged portkey arranged as a gift from the Malfoys had made the choice of of neutral ground an obvious one.  “And it_ is _your choice. I’m not going to retract the deal that I proposed to you through Mr. Grabscale either way, but you have an opportunity here - an unparalleled one that could very well never come again in your, or any lifetime. An opportunity to change the way that humans not only regard the goblin nation, but goblins themselves, for all time.”_

_The Head of Gringotts International looked the young human sitting before him over from cowlick to toes._

_“Why,” he said bluntly._

_“Why… What?”_

_“Why are you offering us this opportunity? What do you want from us in return? What will you want, personally?”_

_Ren rubbed his head._

_“The world,"  the former Harry Potter said finally. “Such as it is - was - less than a week ago, was going to end. Your decisions, your actions against me, however self-motivated,  were the catalyst, however unwitting, that saved it. As things lie, though, you’re never going to get any credit for it;  no one’s going to say, in your instance, however grateful they are for the reprieve, that the end  justifies the means and that all, therefore, should be forgiven and forgotten. Never mind the circumstances, that’s just not how humanity thinks when it comes to goblins.”_

_“You’re a human,” the Head of Gringotts International pointed out._

_“I go with my gut,” Ren returned. “And yes, the apparent facts do add up… The drugs and drug running, the taking of contracts of assassinations, the sheer perverse_ timing _of this all… When taken together, the pattern there makes perfect logical sense, and leads in turn to the single conclusion: your people were involved with the gambling cabals  and the ferals, and have been all along.  That conclusion isn’t the truth though, is it? The truth as I see it , to the point where my deductive trail stalls, is this: you did set me up to be assassinated, but when it came right down to it, in the aftermath…  It was obvious to me when I went in to talk to Gringotts: London from the way Grabscale responded to my prompts that you were far, far angrier over your people’s betrayal of  Bill Weasley’s trust than you were over their failure to fulfil their orders. You’re still angry. I can see that plain as the nose on your face now that I’ve put it out there, and not just at their stupidity and lack of attention to proper protocol either._ That _tells me that, for whatever reason, and I don’t think it’s because he was a walking gold mine… You valued him._ Personally. _And again, from that look on your face right now, even though the contract’s been dissolved and he has no official ties to Gringotts any longer.. You still do.”_

_The Head of Gringotts International said nothing. Ren leaned forward._

_“The protective details he’s had on him,” he said. “That I first noticed on him at my first exam. Your people at Gringotts: London thought you ordered them because he was such a fiscal asset, but it was a lot more than that, wasn’t it? Somehow… Somewhere… I’m betting it was during the first year he worked for Gringotts, down in South America… Bill Weasley earned the right to call himself, not a friend or an ally of the goblin nation - Gringotts: London would have known about that  - but an adopted member of your personal tribe. Maybe even your immediate family. As he’s my brother now, and as I know how seriously you do take tribal ties, even the extended ones… I’m offering this because whether you consider me of your tribe or not, I consider you - not the goblins as a whole, but_ you _\- an extended member of mine.”_

_Still, the Head of Gringotts International said nothing._

_“You’ve risked everything for him.” Ren sat back again. “_ Everything. _Mycanthus, Mongolian yak root… Those are the kind of substances that don’t just require money, but influence. Not Grabscale’s kind of influence,_ your _kind of  influence. I don’t care how much gold he brought in for you; there are some things that no amount of money or self-interest can justify, and you risked the future of the entire goblin nation every week you were supplying him with that shit, never mind your very life and soul  if you’d been caught out by the ICW!  Why would you_ do _that? What was it, exactly, that the particular human brought to the bargaining table, besides that great bloody lot of treasure, which really, when it came right down to it, could mean nothing, compared to  the potential risks, at all?”_

_He didn’t actually expect an answer, of course, and he wasn’t offered one… But after a moment, the old goblin  heaved himself to his feet. “On the record,” he said formally. “Master-Adept… We of Gringotts have never had anything to do with the gambling cabals. We know, and have always known  - though it might be noted that no one has ever asked us if we had any idea - who runs them, and I’m sure you think the less of us for not reporting in, but then again… Who amongst your people would not have thought us, defined as we are, and have always been, by self-interest - complicit?  No. We never reported them, but we have never allied with them in any manner. Whatever we have done… Whatever you may think of us, whatever the facts or the truth, this too is truth.  There are depths to which even we goblins will never stoop.”_

_“Does your guy in London know that?” Charlie inquired, from where he was sitting adjacent to the two others. “He seems a bit of an independent thinker, frankly, and has proved himself one to ignore fine print and cut corners besides.”_

_“That,” the Head of Gringotts International said to him deliberately. “_ Human _, is not your concern. As the other is both of ours, though… We will help you.”_

_The wrangler blinked. “You… Will?”_

_“Mr. Weasley,” the goblin said patiently. “The tribal issues aside… All unnatural empathy aside… Self-interest does dictate that it is a far,_ far _better thing that that my people be thought of as heroes than as the presumed_ assassins _of heroes. One might also want to take into consideration the guaranteed - not just probable, but guaranteed - fact that it would only be a matter of time once Tom Riddle returns before he begins to hunt down the leaders of the cabals. To recruit them, to make alliances with them, and through them, all of their own extended and associated allies again. How long do you think that, in his attempt to return to power, the Dark Lord would leave my people be? The first thing,_ the very first thing _he will try to do under these changed circumstances -  is  try to physically overrun and gain control of the banks in an attempt to cut off this continent’s fiscal resources and to gain control over everyone else’s, thus consolidating the only kind of power available to him that might allow him to compete with your husband’s political influence. Given that… It seems only prudent to ally ourselves with the single individual who has proven that he would be able to keep Riddle out of our places of businesses, mm?”_

_“Even at the risk of goblin life?”_

_“Short-term pain, long-term gain. “ He turned back to Ren. “One condition.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“When you deal with Albus Dumbledore for once and all… Give him my personal regards, according to best goblin tradition.”_

_“Albus…” The dragon wrangler’s nose wrinkled. “What’s he ever done to you?”_

_“One war at a time, Beauty. You got it.” Ren held out his hand. “I’ll send a messenger at the appropriate moment to bring you in.”_

_“We will be ready,” the Head of Gringotts International said, shaking it. “Don’t take this for more than it is, Warder. Future deals will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis, in accordance with the trust you earn from us_ on _that case-by-case basis. No credit.”_

_“What if I managed to break into your personal vault?” the former Harry Potter asked with interest. “And leave proof that I was there? Would I get any credit for that, or respect, at least? I wouldn’t take anything, I promise. I’d just. You know. Leave you a note or something to prove that I’d been in.”_

_“You would have to find my personal vault first, and that is not going to happen in this lifetime.”_

_“Mm. Let me get through the Invitationals, and we’ll sit down over a glass of ale - my treat - and work out the terms of the wager. I’ll start with this; every week it takes me past the point of agreement of terms means you get the wards on a specified branch of Gringotts done up for free.”_

_“Master-Adept,” the Head of Gringotts International said dryly. “The day you manage to find my vault, break into it, leave a note, and get out alive - all without me realizing it till after the fact, when you send me the owl and I’ve verified…”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“I’ll adopt you as an honorary goblin yourself, as an official member of my tribe. Openly.”_

_“Aw. That’s so nice! And nice for you, since if you did that, I’d be bound by goblin tradition to keep all of my skills and secrets  in the immediate  family, in perpetuity.”_

_“The key word there is ‘honorary’. We could work out exceptions on that case-by-case basis again.”_

_“And would you be expecting the traditional familial tithe?”_

_“We’ll take it out in trade. I like to keep personal matters and business matters separate, and there are always odd jobs to be done around the office.”_

_“So…. If you win the bet, you get free wards on every branch of Gringotts on the planet, and if I win, you get free wards on every branch  of Gringotts on the planet?”_

_“Mm.” They watched as the old goblin flashed out._

_“Did you actually break into his counterpart’s vault, then?” the wrangler inquired of his Warder. “On our world?”_

_“I did. We made a bet on it again. We were at the Leaky Cauldron on darts night - we may or may not have been a little drunk - and he  said God Himself couldn’t  break into that vault, and I said maybe God couldn’t, but I was Harry Goddamned Potter, and I could do anything, just ask anyone. He said “Prove it’, and  three weeks later, I did.  His descendants are going to be living that one down for the rest of time, ‘specially with the message on the back wall that I left spelled out in sapphires, rubies and diamonds, all done up with permanent sticking charms.”_

_“Uh?”_

_“Harry and Gin Shagged Here,” he translated. Charlie guffawed._

_“Seriously?”_

_“Mmhmm. He saw it and stormed into my office at the Ministry, screaming ‘FUCK YOU, POTTER” at the top of his lungs, and I said ‘Yeah, that’s what she said, and did. IN YOUR VAULT.”_

_“You two didn’t actually…”_

_“We did.” His husband hefted his satchel. “Brought her there for a date night: blankets, picnic, wine, you name it. Somewhere in that dragon’s hoard is her favourite pair of knickers and one of my Sunday socks. Her bra at least was accounted for; we left it hanging on the front inner door handle…”_

*

"I've known for a long time," Ren said to his captivated audience. "Many years, that this next wave of lethifolds would be the one that would break the world’s back. That everything would be determined, one way or another, this last month. That's why I've dedicated my life to researching and building my fence. And there had to be a staged public event at the end of it all, once all the leths all been collected together and the job had gone down, so everyone would see and understand what had very nearly happened, and what had been happening all along, and the prices that were paid and have yet to be accounted for. So… Through Augusta Longbottom, and her association with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy... I made the arrangements for that final event. But we all wanted to bring the cabals down at the same time. So we partnered with the source who brought the names of the cabal leaders to Luke's private attention in the first place, and over the last several months, have, with the help of that source, made the arrangements to strike the final, collective blow together. "

Brows furrowed. Ren Summoned a stool and settled himself, feet tucked under the cross bar.

"Two months ago," he said. "Just after September’s full moon, Ragnuk, as Head of Gringotts International, approached Mr. Malfoy. He informed him of the names of the cabal leaders here in Great Britain. Mr. Malfoy shared that information with Augusta Longbottom, and she, in turn, introduced him and his wife to my grandfather and me. As my cousin, she was, of course, was aware of the nature of my work, and thought that I might be able to act as a resource there. Over the next three weeks, we came up with a plan that accommodated both of our personal agendas - the routing of the cabals, and the revelations of the extent of the soon-to-be-resolved crisis with the lethifolds.  We approached Remus Lupin and Sirius Black and let them in a certain small portion of that plan - the  sting in Edinburgh that would set the entire ball rolling, on the tenth anniversary of the downfall of Tom Riddle. That sting was the first step. We brought down Fenrir Greyback's pack, as planned, and neutralized them. We had simply planned to neutralize them the one way, but then we discovered, on a trip to the Potter vaults - young Harry wished to see his family legacy - a letter, addressed to Mr. Lupin, that had never been delivered, containing the cure for lycanthropy. It fit nicely into our plans and as well as neutralizing them, we neutered them."

Cheers rose, if brief ones. Ren smiled briefly.

"The publicity there," he continued. "Brought the attention of the cabals down on me, as it was intended to. I then announced my intent to sit for my International Mastery in Warding, as well as to compete for the Global Grandmastery. With that move, the world’s eyes were on me. At which point, Mr. Malfoy’s source moved in to help us with stage two of the plan.”

Everyone listened avidly..

"It was crucial," Ren explained. "Absolutely crucial, that the cabal leaders thought that I was not simply neutral on the subject of our source, but actively _against_ it. So our source put in a bid to operate as the sponsors of my warding exam, in Brazil, and when they won, we arranged for the revelation of a false rumour - that they had been targeting me for assassination, thus earning my enmity and the disdain of all, and particularly the associative disinterest of the cabal leaders, who again, needed to be blinded to the fact that we would have the option of calling in our source as allies to be helping us tonight, when the cabal leaders pulled just what is happening now, and brought all of their own allies in as well, on the one spot."

Jaws dropped.

"Our allies did their job perfectly," Ren continued. "They sponsored their bid, won it, and arranged for the revelation of the so-called 'plan' to assassinate me at my exam. Tamsin Applebee was an absolutely perfect, if unwitting, ally. She has a certain gift of natural legilimency, and while the goblin contingent was in line at the lunch table, one of them brushed her arm and 'allowed' her to see the plan to drop me into the spawning grounds all unawares. Goblins are immune to natural legilimency, as some of you may know, so the only way she could have seen the plan was if they allowed her to. I would like to say that after that point, Tamsin’s responsive actions were entirely and independently her own, reflective of her character, and that even though, technically, she didn't save my life... Her involvement was a key point in our plans.  Her absolutely instinctive reactions were exactly as we suspected as they would be. As they would have been, had the scenario presented been truth, instead of apparent fact."

"What about Terence?" Warren  Higgs asked. "You're saying you made up his involvement too?"

"No," Ren lied. "Your brother, Mr. Higgs... Did in fact, give me my final bit of inspiration for the fence. I operate on a bit of a moment-by-moment basis there; my ideas come when they will, how they will, and yes, I had the construction of the fence down and ready to go, but there was still that final piece missing. Gramps was ready to beat me for being so cavalier about it, but I said 'it'll come when it comes, it always does, when I need it, as I need it, you can't force it..." and sure enough, it did. So I went in, built, or rather, finished the fence, did my thing along with the Horntails at the absolutely crucial moment, and came back to make the public announcement at my duel." He leaned forward. "It wasn't ready till that day. If it had been...  If it had been, I would have set it was soon as it was finished. People would have _died,_ Mr. Higgs, in the interim between that moment of discovery and the day of my exam, and no one, _no one_ is replaceable. I would not have risked a single soul, if I'd been able to prevent it before that day. All that my work could save... Did save."

"Fucking bloody big risk," Moody muttered.

"Not really," the Master Adept said frankly.  "I knew it would come. Like I said, it always does. Anyway. The lethifolds were resolved in the public eye, our allies temporarily discredited, and the cabal leaders are now convinced that we're coming in, vastly outnumbered and ready for the slaughter." He smiled grimly. "They're about to get a very, very unpleasant surprise."

"I don’t get it,’ Arthur said. “What have you ever done for the goblins, Malfoy, that they would come to you so readily?”

“Gringotts and Riddle had an ongoing policy of non-interference during the war,” Lucius explained. “In actuality... The goblins were in a perfect position to help me now and again, without anyone  ever suspecting. In exchange, I offered my own kind of aid: that is, my ongoing  influence with Riddle that did allow Gringotts its relative ongoing autonomy. That would not have been the case, I assure you, if I had not encouraged my employer to leave things alone there. As a result, at the end of the war, I was told that I was considered a member of the extended clan. When the Head of Gringotts International realized through his contacts that the feeder leagues were the front for the cabals, he came to me personally and informed me. Self-interest aside, whatever the enmity between goblins and humans, he said, there is none between us, and he knew that my own son could very well be an eventual target, on every level there is. After that… I introduced him to the Master-Adept, and we informed him of our plans in Brazil, and asked him if he would be willing to help, and afterwards,  when this day came, to step out of the shadows as my anonymous source and stand with us and fight beside us, should it prove necessary. His answer was an absolute and unqualified, unhesitating yes."

Blinks abounded.

"I find that a bit hard to believe," Dawlish said skeptically. "Why would he do that?"

"Key word, International," Lucius said. "Gringotts: London discovered the source because the source - the local leaders of the gambling cabals, that is, those who operate primarily through their association with the feral werewolf packs  -  came to them with a proposal to extend their own, broader personal influence via the goblins’ direct, pre-established management of the Magical community’s global fiscal network. They wished to initiate an alliance - a local one, to start - but vastly underestimated the goblins' willingness to act as potential sacrificial lambs if everything went to hell. And it would have gone to hell, and because the goblins do have that pre-established public association with humans, never mind the poor history, they would have been the first and ultimate target of the ICW's indignation. As such... They were uninclined. At the time though... Albus Dumbledore was the Supreme Mugwump. The goblins had no illusions on what his reaction would have been if they'd approached him on the subject, so they approached me instead."

" _Dumbledore’s_ reaction?"

"The man's insane," Ren said bluntly. Eyes darted sideways at that, at the man’s brother, now picking raisins out of an oatmeal biscuit. He ignored them all, if not quite blithely or blandly, superbly. "Functional, yes, but insane. My Horntails confirmed it when I introduced them all. He's known for the last ten years about the problems in the Lower Americas. As Supreme Mugwump again, he’s been the one in charge of the problem, and was the one to organize the cover-up there in the final crucial decade. The Lower Americas have known what's coming. They keep track of these things. You think they haven't been telling people? Wanting to warn people? To get more help in, from any and all source in trying to keep up with the problem, however they can get it? And he ignored it, merrily onward, business as usual, oh well. If the world blows up it blows up, and what the hell. You all, all of you, need to get this through your heads for once and for all, alright? _Albus. Dumbledore. Is. Not. A. Good. Guy._ And the goblins know, because the goblins know what's going on in South America. Their customer base _has_ been rather affected there, yeah?"

"And why haven't they said anything before now?" one of the Irish Aurors asked.

"What could they have done?" Ren asked bluntly. "What do you think the ICW would have done to them if they'd tried to blow the whistle? You can't alter goblins' minds. You can't obliviate them, or use legilimency on them… Nothing. The only thing you can do to them if they fuck up on your watch, from your perspective, is to kill them. And the ICW has always known where the spawning grounds are, and lethifolds might not go out of their way to eat goblins if there are humans available, but they’re not going to turn them down if they’re literally dropped on them from on high, either. Them, or… And… Their children."

Silence fell at that. Hard.

"As soon as they saw a way to help," the Warder said. "They did. They risked everything, as soon as they could. _Everything._ Self-interest, maybe, but the fact remains that they did help, and intend to keep helping tonight. First and initially in the name of preserving themselves against the cabals… But once they realized the broader possibilities inherent in the elimination of the lethifolds…. That fence, you see, didn't just save the humans. It saved them too. Their children. Their very existence as a _people_ , for what do you think the Nomaji would think of them, mm, if the Magical world was revealed? How many of our own people, Magical human people, if given the opportunity to distract infuriated Nomaji attention from themselves, would help them aim at the decidedly non-human instead? How many… How many of _you,_ if you’re just that brutally honest with yourselves, and all economics aside… Would consider the goblin nation any kind of real loss, and by extension… Completely and utterly expendable-as-and-if-necessary?”

Again, he leaned forward. “They came to us to save themselves, yes. And we agreed to help them, and offered them the opportunity to help save all of us. Now that that’s done… For the first time in the joint history of humanity and the goblins, they’re holding out their hands to us in all good and unconditional faith. Not just as a final codicil on any contract, but because as we did help them save their children - twice -  all of their children, in perpetuity - and no matter how self-interested we all were there, and as both sides can freely admit as we’re none of us in a position to criticize, we’ve agreed to leave  that out of the matter -  they truly, truly, want to help us bring _our_ children home.”

He paused a moment to let that sink in.

“Can we get on with it?” Ragnuk the Eighth said dourly. “If you don’t mind? All of my people have to work tomorrow, no exceptions unless they’re actually dead, and I’d like to know just how many of them I’ll have to replace over the seasonal rush besides.  Oh. wait.” He dug into his inner pocket and looked around. “Which one of you is Neil Cartwright?”

Neil raised his hand. A parchment envelope spun over. He caught it.

“Special delivery,” the ancient goblin said, and smiled toothily. “Said to tell you he’d be in New York for your mutual relative’s investiture there, and you can catch up then.”

“What?” Neil said. He looked most bewildered, and turned the letter over. A single word was printed on the front, in very familiar handwriting.

“Ne’il?” Minerva sat up in alarm. Her lover’s face was ghost white. “Wha’ is it?”

Neil said nothing, just ripped the envelope open and unfolded the paper with trembling hands.

 

* * *

 

 

 **“Fuck,” Lucius Malfoy said succinctly. “Just…** **_fuck._ ** **” He buried his face in his hands, shoving aside his hysterical panic as hard as he could in favour of…**

 **“It is not possible,” Ramone repeated numbly. “There is not enough** **_time._ ** **There is not…” He too buried his face in his hands. The heat rising from Silva’s body was now so intense that everyone in the room was starting to sweat with it. A thin sheen of condensation began to form on the windows…  Carmen looked from Inez to Antonio, confused and alarmed. Lucius dropped his hands.**

**“Get out,” he ordered. His voice cracked sharply. “All of you. Get out. Now. No, sir. You stay.”**

**“Luz…”**

**“All will be well. I swear it on my mother’s grave and your Jesus’ name.  NOW GET** **_OUT!”_ **

**They got. Lucius grabbed Silva’s hand, and then his chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.**

**“Take us to the waterfall,” he ordered. “Where we went the first week we bonded.”**

**Silva just shook, his eyes glazed. Lucius reared back and slapped the priest so hard that he reeled, only the hand on his wrist preventing him from falling. It actually cleared his eyes though, briefly.**

**“Waterfall!” his heart snapped. “NOW, Padre!”**

**The chimes sounded. They emerged mid-air, over the icy, deep pool beneath the jewelled, hidden fall. They submerged with an almighty splash. Steam rose in clouds. Lucius trod water grimly, holding up the semi-conscious man as his temperature cooled to the reasonable range.**

**“** **_Muito bueno_ ** **,” he said, and towed him to shore, settling him on a broad, flat rock. “Now. Here is what we are going to do.”**

**“Luis..”**

**“No,” he overrode him. “No. There is a way. One way.** **_Only_ ** **one way. Do you trust me, sir?”**

**“Oh, my heart.” Silva’s face crumpled. “You know I do, but this…”**

**“Do you** **_trust_ ** **me,” Lucius repeated. “Enough to do what I say, as I say, without asking any questions whatsoever?”**

**The eyes cleared a bit at that again, and narrowed slightly.**

**“Are you going to require me to break my vows?” the priest asked.**

**“I have no idea.  We’ve never got quite to the point in our conversations, have we, where you’ve told me all the finer points there. No.” The younger man, despite his own grim and grimly refocused panic, actually rolled  his own eyes slightly at the Look. “I am not. We simply do not have the time for me to answer all of your questions right now. Now, will you, just this once, my phoenix… Agree to obey** **_me_ ** **?”**

**Antonio Silva closed his eyes. As Lucius watched, his clothes dried and neatened, his sopping hair tidying itself. Lucius’ own clothes and hair did the same.**

**"I will obey you, my fine young Englishman,” his phoenix said, and rose to his feet. Lucius took his arm.**

**“Glamours,” he ordered. “On both of us. No one must recognize us.”**

**The air shimmered.**

**“Excellent. Now, take us back to Gringotts in Rio. Once we are there, you will wait in the cafe across the street. Precisely ninety minutes after you have ordered - something with ice, you are far, far too warm yet - you will go up the steps of the bank. A goblin will meet you outside the men’s loo on the left of the third pillar on the far side of the lobby. Do not talk to him. He will not talk to you. Just follow him wherever he leads you.”**

**“What else?”**

**“Pray,” his fine young Englishman said tersely. “Like you’ve never prayed in your life. This plan of mine, no matter how good I am and how sure I am that it will work,** **_is_ ** **going to take a miracle...”**

 

* * *

 

“Gramps,” Ren said. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“It’s from Frankie,” Neville whispered. “It’s impossible. It’s _impossible._ ”

 _“Frankie?_ ” Remus said in blank shock. “Your _son_ Frankie?”

Ren strode over and ripped the envelope from his hands, turning it over. The broken, red-rust seal glimmered dully. He popped a wand, it sharpened to the knife edge, grabbing Neil’s hand and slicing the thumb. A drop of blood fell over the seal. It turned a brilliant shimmering gold. Neil stared at it, and up at him, gone past pale to translucent.

“It’s a match.” Ren turned on his heel. “Who was with him,” he demanded without preamble. “Tell me. NOW!”

“I could do that,” Ragnuk said. “Or I could give you this.” He held out a second envelope. Ren grabbed it from him, tearing it open and shaking out the single piece of notebook paper. A photo fell out; he caught it as he scanned the words.

“Lawrence,” Lucius said. “What is it?” Ren looked up at him, as white-faced as Neil had gone. Everyone else in the room might as well not have been there. Lucius took the paper from him.

**_Dad -_ **

**_Don’t bust a bollock. Had to bring boys back early. Gate’s closed, tell Sev and Gran v. sorry, but slight arithmantic tangle means they’re stuck here now, long term. Congrats on the wedding; you made a beautiful bride.  Duel was bloody buggering_ brilliant _, though the TARDIS was a bit of a cheat, yeah? Pretty sure not what the judges had in mind. Scorp says ‘RON AND HERMIONE? SO, SO ADORABLE!’ I have to tell you, Dad, all unsubstantiated rumours and the wife and nine kids aside? Sometimes I really wonder about that man._**

**_Must also say, all else aside… Am enjoying the weather here v. much. V. bracing. Scorp says it makes him feel positively seventeen-to twenty again. I can relate. Uncle Frankie and Auntie Stel would argue; 40-45 at the most, and Carlotta and Tony could be twins. Approx. 40 yr old twins. In no way a  rubbish surprise, but pls., feel free to deduce explanations there at whim & share when we Meet  Anon.  Boys are well. Don’t suppose we could all wangle tickets for the Global Invitationals? Looks like a bloody brilliant line up. I’ve placed my bet, and it’s not on you, nor on Obonyo-Higgs. Scorp is quite dazzled by her though. I quote: “Wowsers!’ I despair. Truly._ **

**_Re. Scorp - Unfortunately as naturally resistant to glamours as ever. Best thing to do is to arrange to make statement that the Malfoys had him while they were on their ISEP yr and sent him to America via friends for safekeeping. Rationale: a spare Malfoy wd. never have been safe against Riddle at that pt, not after what happened to Mrs. Malfoy.  All details confirmable as necessary. Longbottom says to say hello to godparents, and will see them soon. He and Little Harry looking forward v. much to being One Big Happy Family._ **

**_Mwah!_ **

**_Allan Seville-Potter ( HJP’s erstwhile American relative, with brown eyes. Eyes again still resistant to glamours and potions, but Nomaji coloured contacts are BRILLIANT.  How, in all of my hundred how-many years, is this the first I’ve ever heard of them???)_ **

**_P.S. NO, we did not use any bloody time turners. We learned our lesson, so no need to pull out look of raging disapproval._ **

**_P.P.S. SOLACE? WITH LUCIUS FUCKING_ MALFOY??? _REALLY??? You’re doing this SOLELY to annoy Uncle Drake from beyond the grave, aren’t you? Also, how is that going to work, exactly? From view at duel, yr mutual body language simply not compatible with the necessary interaction._**

**_Yr. Devoted Relative, ASP_ **

The two men stared at each other, Charlie and Niss suddenly appeared by their sides. Narcissa took the letter, and Charlie the photo.

“Ah,” Lucius said finally. “This is… Unexpected.”

Ren said nothing, just regarded the photo again, then folded it neatly in the envelope and tucked it back into the hidden pocket of his chimaera-hide armour.

“Thank you,” he said to Ragnuk. “Alright then, Gramps?”

“No,” Neil said grimly. “I am not. I am going to bloody kill your father when I get my hands on him. Goddamn bloody buggering little _shite_ .” He stuffed the envelope in his pocket. “I don’t care how much rice pud he’s putting on the table as his conciliatory peace offering, there is absolutely no excuse, _none,_ for knocking about all these years letting us think he was dead. Alright, Malfoy. Let’s get on with it. I’m feeling the sudden and overwhelming urge to bite someone, and I really, really don’t know how long I’m going to be able to hold off now...”

 

* * *

 

**_Gringotts: Rio_ **

**_May 5, 1971_ **

 

 **"A time turner," Ragnuk the Eighth, _de_** **_facto_ ** **King of the Goblins repeated. "You want me to obtain you a** **_time turner?_ ** **"**

 **"Not to keep," Lucius said firmly. "I merely wish to borrow one for a few weeks. Once I have employed it, I will need it returned to where it came from.” He leaned forward. "I know of the extent of the problem here in South America," he said. "The goblins are not affected directly now, but they will be if the worst happens. Not by the plague itself, unless you count the complete decimation of your customer base affecting, but... You do not look human, you see? How do you think the Nomaji would react to you? Do you** **_truly_ ** **think you could rely on human Magicals - on the** **_ICW_ ** **\- to defend you? This something... It could very well make a difference. Not the difference, but** **_a_ ** **difference, for I intend to use it to..." He paused. "Never mind that. Let us just say that it is in everyone's best interests, including yours. I will not use it to change the past. I will not use it to alter the future. The only thing I need it for is to provide me with more hours that currently exist in the next seven and half weeks’ worth of days.”**

**"Do you have any idea what the ICW would do to me, Mr. Malfoy, if it were to ever even suspect that I’d considered such a thing?"**

**"I do, and there is a very simple way to avoid that problem.”**

**“Is there, now.”**

**“Yes. There is.  Do not get caught."**

**"And what are you offering the goblin nation in payment for this favour?”**

**"Everything that is legally mine to give at this point in time - the sum total of my currently accessible private holdings at Gringotts, bestowed on me by my mother."**

**Ragnuk’s eyes actually widened a little at that. Lucius leaned forward again.**

**"I am serious," he said. "I am** **_serious._ ** **But this must,** **_must_ ** **remain between you and me. I will require - and will make - your equivalent of an Unbreakable Vow, that you will never speak of this meeting to anyone, any more than I will. One time turner, delivered to me personally, from your own hand, returned and replaced in its original position by your own hand when my time with it is finished. Contingencies set on the Vow, that you will not use it yourself, or take another, or use the information I provide you with that will enable the appropriation of anything else there at any point in time, past, present, or future."**

**"Are you willing to pay my personal asking price, on top of what you’ve offered?”**

**"What do you want?"**

**"A future favour," the Head of Gringotts International said. "Open-ended. You can come to me and offer it, if you're ever in a position to think you've got something worth my while, but I'll be the one determining the value there in the end, and if I come up with something that I want instead..."**

**"I will not kill for you, directly or indirectly,” the young man sitting before him said immediately. “I will harm no one. It may be for the benefit of the goblin nation, but not at the expense of anyone else. You must swear to me that you will not use this agreement with me to further any agenda that will harm anyone. And it is my debt to you, not my tribe's. If I die without fulfilling the terms... The debt does not pass down through the generations."**

**"You're a Burgess alright," the small being before him said grudgingly. "Had a few discussions with your grandfather on how the goblin mind works, have you? I hope you're practising your Occlumency, human. Never mind your ability to retain your memory of this little deal once the Obliviators have at you, Riddle's got no use for someone who isn't completely committed."**

**"I am not worried about the Obliviators. You and me. No one else. Ever.** **_Ever_** **."**

**Ragnuk’s mouth twisted as he looked him over, but it was more of a thoughtful expression than a disdainful one.**

**"I don't trust you," he said finally. "But you're interesting. And your mother was alright. Had tea with her once, when she was what… Twelve or so? She talked too much, but what can you do. Never met a human who didn’t. You ever get the opportunity to stick Riddle for her, give him an extra twist of the knife and my regards on her behalf in the moment."**

**"It will be," Lucius said grimly. "My** **_pleasure._** **"**

**"Would she have approved of what you intend to do with this time turner?" he asked. "Personally? Would you be able to look her in the eye, as your tribal matriarch, and tell her that she’d have nothing to be ashamed of in her son for the fact? By her standards, not yours?"**

**"Yes. If she were alive, she'd be here with me right now.”**

**The Head of Gringotts International sat back, arms crossed and ridged eyebrows beetled.**

**“All your money,” he said. “As a Burgess. What’s the Malfoy in you got to offer, mm?**

**“What do you want from Malfoy?”**

**“You,” he said coolly. “On your knees, begging me for it. If it’s that important to you - important enough for you to dare ask me to risk** **_my_ ** **people - Prove it.”**

**If it was meant as an opening point of negotiation… And the young Englishman knew that it wasn’t, and that the old goblin was just putting it out there to make the self-entertaining, self-amusing point before kicking him out on his arse… It failed entirely. Lucius pushed his chair back immediately, rose to his feet and dropped to his knees, prostrating himself, arms extended as he bowed so deeply that his forehead touched the old goblin’s feet.**

**“Please, Sire,” he said in a low voice. “I’m begging you. I’m** **_begging_ ** **you. I need your help. I swear, I swear, on my mother’s name, that nothing but good for all of us can come from this.”**

**He closed his eyes, not moving a muscle. He could feel the dark eyes boring through the back of his head. The room was so quiet, suddenly, that he could heard the rush of his own blood through his veins. A full minute passed, then another. Still, he didn’t move.**

**Finally...**

**“Get up.” A toe prodded his head, not terribly gently. Lucius pushed himself up and returned to his chair. The old goblin reached over, and retrieved quills, parchment and ink from his desk.**

**“Half your fortune and the favour,” he said. “It wouldn’t do to have your people asking questions on where all your funds went, after all, and Riddle** **_will_ ** **ask eventually, even if your father’s too stupid to live. Terms and conditions, and then we call in the Bonder. Bit of a different process when my people are involved, since we’re not allowed to use wands. You’ll have to donate a bit of blood for the cause.”**

**“How long will it take?” Lucius asked anxiously.**

**“You’re asking for a** **_time turner_** **, Mr. Malfoy. Once you sign this, you can go back to Castelobruxo and it’ll be waiting for you in….”**

**“My night table. Back of the third drawer, inside my rolled Quidditch socks.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not planning on using it for anything else but to get it there, are you?”**

**“Not if you’re good enough to make sure that there are no loopholes that I can work with, no. And I’m not giving you any hints there either. Whatever room you leave me, you may be most** **_assuredly_ ** **sure, Mr. Malfoy, that I** **_will_ ** **use it.” Ragnuk offered him a jagged, toothy grin. It was not remotely pleasant. Lucius just smiled back, and let his wand slip out of his right sleeve… Half a dozen spells later, the parchment put before him erupted suddenly in a burst of green smoke. The quill followed immediately. He sighed in sad disappointment, offering the blatantly unapologetic goblin sitting across from him a reproachful look. The Head of Gringotts International laughed.**

**“Not bad. You ever want a job as a curse-breaker, feel free to make an appointment for an interview. Oh, don’t give me that look. You look just like your mother when you do that.” He pulled out another sheaf of paper and two more quills. “They’re clean, I promise.”**

**“Of what?” the young man sitting before him inquired politely. “Smudges? Inkblots? Ingrown hairs? I am afraid that I am going to require a rather more specific list that that, Sire. Please do not think that I do not trust you, but considering what is involved, and your statement of assurance on how you intend to employ any loopholes I offer you just now… I do not.”**

**“I’m hurt, Mr. Malfoy. Really.”**

**“I am so sorry. Specifics, please. What charms, curses, hexes, jinxes, enchantments, illusions, binders and any related magical and non-magical modifiers have been placed, are being placed, or will be placed on these papers and quills before us now that have altered, are altering, or would, could, or will in any way alter the terms and conditions that either of us put forth through them toward the contracted and binding end of our honourable and faithful interpretation of each other as beings of perfect and mutual good faith - all definitions there as per your understanding of how I, and more to the point, my mother, would define them, not you or** **_your_ ** **mother?”**

 **“Listen to** **_you,_ ** **” his host said mock-admiringly. “Such precision. Such exactitude. Such polished verbiage. I think you may have missed a comma in there, though.”**

**“Check your boots. It might have stuck to them while I was licking them just now. And do not change the subject. The question stands: What charms, curses, hexes…”**

**“I heard you the first time. One. There is exactly one magical modifier that has, is, and will be placed upon the sheets of parchment and the quills you are referring to - a charm that will ensure that my good faith as expressed through and within the final content of the proposed contract is exactly equivalent to, and as binding as, your own.”**

**“And what of the ink?” Lucius inquired. “In these quills, in those bottles, and every other item within the effective and affective parameters of your premises here for that matter? Also, you said magical modifiers, but did not mention non-magical ones. As goblin magics do not actually legally qualify as magics as  humans define them, any non-human cultural equivalents that any of your people or any other specifically non-human species, for that matter, has placed on the items in question have not been accounted for. Also, and for the record… I will be signing this contract, and putting forth my name in this contract and all related endeavours, as I did on our agreements the last time I was in this room, under the name Lucius Abraxas Burgess-Waites, not Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.”**

**“And why is that?”**

**“Because Malfoy translates** **_as_ ** **bad faith, and if I put it forth on the contracts as my binder, I would be defining myself as a representative of such. So much for ‘my good faith as expressed through and within the final content of the proposed contract is exactly equivalent to, and as binding as, your own.’” He pushed his chair back and stretched his legs out, crossing them neatly at the booted ankles, placing one elbow on each arm of the chair again and tenting his fingers neatly before him. “Now. Let us try this again, shall we? From the top, now...”**

 

* * *

 

_Walden McNair’s Fortress_

_Newport, Wales_

 

“I love you, Edward,” Andromeda Tonks whispered as the world turned white and expanded and popped; “Don’t be a hero now,” and even as her lips touched his, Ted Tonks concentrated and transformed, swerving sharply right and hurtling as fast as he ever had toward his designated target. He landed neatly just as it, and he, spun out of existence, inhaling swiftly and automatically and exhaling as it, and he, were reborn mid-air, high, high in the dying night sky: black and cold  and smelling sharply and near-painfully of the sea. In the single moment the smell was all he processed, and the black void, and then the world refocused, reflected as a prism in his multi-faceted eyes.

Ted concentrated hard again. Like Lucius Malfoy, the first thing that he’d done once he had managed the Animagus transformation was to spend considerable, considerable time learning to accommodate for the fact that, no matter the charms of his particular new form, he really did need human vision in order to do his proper job. He blinked, once, twice, three times, and though the physical shape and size of his bee’s eyes didn’t change again, his sense of perception somehow did, and he was seeing as a man would once more. It was odd, he thought as he always did… Bee or not, his magic somehow accommodated for relative visual proportions too, rendering everything he looked at not only in human-appropriate shape and colour, but size.

Ted  launched himself off of his host’s cowlick lightly and buzzed back, turning mid-air to scan the new terrain. Ren Weasley-Cartwright had transported out shoulder to shoulder with his husband and the Malfoys again, but they’d all ported in at different locations. Narcissa and Charlie were yet together, deep in the heart of the fortress beneath, and as for Lucius… He hadn’t said specifically, but with that bloody buggering form, one thing was guaranteed; Great Britain’s new Minister of Magic was surely and exactly where he’d be needed most at any given time - that is, for all intents and purposes, everywhere at once.

Weasley-Cartwright had emerged mid-air. For three seconds he plunged down, down, and then, before Ted’s eyes, he bounced, knees flexing deeply. As he straightened, his hands came up, a wand appeared in each, his boots disappeared, and there was a sleek, sturdy  broomstick suddenly attached to his bare feet.The invisibility spell surrounding him snapped, or was rather dispelled, and dozens upon dozens of jets of multicolored light suddenly flew as thick as clouds in his direction. Ted couldn’t help but roll his eyes as they slammed into him and immediately reversed trajectory. Screams and shouts and cries of agony filled the darkness.

“Really?” he heard Weasley-Cartwright say plaintively (and loudly) in his mild deep drawl. “Really? I sat in that fucking police box for a whole hour on that dais; I spelled it all out for you, _and_ the implications, in small words and that handy little mnemonic, even, and _still_ none of you got it?” A second volley of bright streaks spat at him in vindictive reply, and were promptly returned to sender. “Oh, that’s nice. Oop, no, no, don’t do that; you _really,_ really don’t want to do tha…”

The arrow of green light shot in from the left. Instead of bouncing back though, Weasley-Cartwright’s  right hand shot out, catching the deadly ribbon on the end of the wand, spinning it neatly and snapping it back and out as a whip. It shot from the wand tip like a javelin, slung toward the earth below at an impossible speed. For a moment, the very darkness seemed to hold its breath…

The green javelin struck the earth, sinking deep, deep, deep...

And the world exploded around and within him, not in light or with any kind of external physical force, but with pure, raw, perfect and undiluted magic.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the voice said plaintively again. “I couldn’t just let it bounce, could I? It could have killed somebody! No, it _would_ have killed somebody! AKs do that, you know, and okay,  split ley-lines are one thing, but fixing dead people? Even I’m not _that_ good.”

_Split…_

“Oh, don’t worry,” the voice reassured him. “I can patch it up, no problem. Though it does seem a real waste to let all this lovely energy go to waste; I can’t put that back in once it’s out, after all. Barn door, horse, and… Mm. No, no. Nice magic, good magic. You don’t want to go wandering off like that; you’ll just get yourself and everybody else into trouble. Here, come on over here, that’s it, and… There now. That’s better. Much, much, much better. Now that I’ve got your attention… How about we give these baby-raping fuckers a properly active demonstration of how we do the laundry?’

*

The magic built and built and built. Ted felt as if he would explode with it, as if all of magic in all of the ley-lines in all of Europe, not just that leaching from the single split path, was re-diverting and arrowing in on this point and place in time…. If the pull was so strong here, he could not even _begin_ to imagine what it had been like in Lower Americas and the Islands when Weasley-Cartwright and his Horntails had destroyed the lethifolds and neutralized their spawning grounds… Ted had not done terribly well in Ancient Runes, but he remembered the basics well enough, _and_ the map on the wall of the classroom showing how every single ley path in the world eventually passed through the main node in South America - perhaps, and not so coincidentally, in Northern Brazil.  Surely every Magical on the continent must have felt the moment that their power was called on and diverted through those ley paths to target their ancient enemy and vanquish it for good and all... And with that thought came another, and Ted suddenly remembered something else he'd read once, about Warders on the International  level  being born, not made, and he wondered, even in the bewildered, awed moment, if those Warders' inclinations actually had something to do with the shape of their magical cores - whether they were simply and naturally biologically _designed_ to route and reroute and reshape ley-magics in that preternaturally efficient manner toward the specific end of creating patterns that manifested as wards.

It would only make sense.  Perfect sense. To channel that… _this_ …. kind of raw power successfully and safely... No standard, all-purpose magical core, however powerful, could manage it. It would _require_ a core not just inclined toward it, as a Master in Transfiguration was inclined towards Transfigurative magics - but assigned as such, solely as such, from the moment of conception. Ted suddenly remembered Gustavus Richard's words at the duel.

**You are seeking to become an International Warder, Master Cartwright - a guardian and protector not just of those you personally value and love, but of the entire world.  It is not a job. It is not a career. It is a calling.**

_They made him Grandmaster,_ Ted thought. _Master-Adept. No, not_ made _him._ Recognized _him. They know - they knew - that only a core designed and designated by the planet itself as its living anchor rune - a core shaped and brought forth by the magical core of the planet itself, in its time of greatest need - could channel the kind of magic necessary to destroy all those lethifolds without de-stabilizing every ley path in South America. Without de-stabilizing all of the ley paths in all of the_ world, because they all cross there _. They_ all _cross there._ All _of them._

 _He didn't_ do _anything. He was just the conduit. He understands how to create bio-runes because he’s a bio-rune himself._ The _bio-rune. The Horntails used their magic to direct the entire world’s magic through him, at the point where all paths meet, and his core reshaped it all. He reshaped its nature. In that one spot, at that one point in time, inside the boundaries of that fence..._

_This man literally, literally, reshaped the laws of magic. Turned them inside out, fluffed and folded them..._

_And came home, took a four hour nap and held off an army._

Caught in the thrall of the magic loosed from the split ley-line, Ted Tonks heard, in his very bones, as Bill Weasley had only days before as he’d hovered over the world and  wept for a lost continent’s lost children, a chant so liquid and rolling that it might as well be a song, as rising and inexorable as the sea… He listened carefully, puzzled, trying to sort through the syllables, but the intonation and auditory patterns there were so foreign that he simply couldn’t absorb and sort the sounds. There was a very simple explanation for that, he realized in a sudden burst of clarity… It was because he wasn’t really _hearing_ sounds at all. He was _feeling_ them as they vibrated and reverberated through his own core. He was feeling the rushing movement of the _entire world’s magic_ through the local ley-lines as they traversed the ley paths and were rerouted and channeled through Weasley-Cartwright’s core again, emerging from him, through him, reshaped and cast forth in his preferred protective vision in the closest analogical form that the human mind could manage. And still, the power gathered and gathered... Ted could feel his own core, and his own magic, straining and straining. For a moment, just a moment, he was plainly terrified.

Then...

He wasn't. Every fiber of his being, just as as it had been in the stadium on the day of Weasley-Cartwright’s duel, was simply all and nothing but YES YES YES.

The Master-Adept (and as per the movie, Ted knew with utter certainty that There Could Be Only One) stood as a bright silhouette overhead, high, high above the earth, a wand in each hand, and arms outflung. The earth shifted around him, and within him, and a sudden massive, perfectly straight line of dazzling blue-green bisected the black earth from the still-dark west to the lighting silvered gash of the far eastern horizon. Then a second line bisected it neatly from north to south, and yet more raw light… raw _magic…_ flooded forth from both, rising and arcing and spilling out into a perfect dome over the fortress and surrounding fields and cliffs below. Ted could feel the small rune on his ankle that Weasley-Cartwright had swiftly inked, as he had on every other member of the army, tingle...

And a sudden thunderous extended crackle sounded as, all around him, five hundred feet up and as far as the eye could see in every direction, every invisible broom and wand aimed at and targeting the single standing silhouette was caught in the rolling waves of light and snapped. Dozens upon dozens - no, hundred upon hundreds - of figures flailed, screaming and plummeting into the darkness below. The collective splat was perfectly audible and perfectly gruesome. The silhouetted figure just  tucked the wands in his pockets, flipped till he was lying flat on his belly along the length of his broom and, so fast he was a literal blur, shot down and down and down. Ted sped after him, as fast as his form could carry him.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Ramone and Lucius’ Dorm Room_ **

**_Castelobruxo School_ **

 

**"I have a gift for you, Carriera-from-Brazil," Lucius said. Seated at his desk, Ramone just grunted and scribbled. It took him a full minute to process the vision descended before him. He grabbed it and stared, looking up and back and down again.**

**"Luz, what..."**

**"Do not ask. Once I have returned it to the source, I will have to obliviate you of your memories of its existence."**

**"Luz, the penalties for employing... for possessing... We would not be altered, we would be executed!"**

**"You will die anyway, if you fail these exams," Lucius said bluntly. "Everything of you. I do not find that acceptable. I do not believe that your God finds that acceptable. Do you know of a place in the castle that no one ever goes?"**

**"Yes, but..."**

**"Transform. Go there now. Six turns, six hours' sleep. Come back here, and we will start over. No one,** **_no one_ ** **must see you, coming or going."**

**"You are a miracle worker." His lover was on the verge of tears. "A true angel of God. Luz..."**

**"Go. Every moment counts." Lucius  kissed him softly. Ramone kissed him back, hard, and blurred. Lucius deliberately turned his back. The door opened, and closed... He remained looking at the wall. Behind him, the door opened just slightly, and closed. He smiled as he turned around.**

**"Better?" he asked. Ramone, not entirely refreshed but looking somewhat more rested, nodded.**

**"If I may ask," he began tentatively.**

**"You may not. I will only tell you this; I have done nothing that would offend your God as I believe you define Him, and have offered no price for it of which I think He would disapprove.'**

**Ramone nodded. He seated himself at his desk again and reached for his books.**

**"You will stay on the schedule that I devised for you before the letter came," Lucius directed. "For the ten prime subjects. I will create another, allowing time and a schedule for extra sleep and studying your correspondence courses for the hours you will regain using the time turner. And you must swear, you must swear to me, Ramone, on your Jesus’ name, that you will not offer that hourglass one more turn than I allow you, or for the reasons I allow you.”**

**"I swear," he promised. "Now, if you will excuse me..."**

**"Go to it." The young Englishman sank to his  bed  and watched him turn to the marked page of his Arithmancy text. After a moment, he retrieved a pad of paper and a pen, slid back so that he was sitting at the precise center of the mattress, arranged his books and papers in a neat and equidistant semi-circle about himself, and began to work intently.**

 

* * *

 

_Walden McNair’s Reception Hall_

 

He landed in a crouch, rising up and up and up: no mere twelve, but a full _twenty five feet_ of claw, tooth, and rage as, for the first time in his long, long life, Neville Frank Longbottom let loose his demons. Within a hundred twenty seconds the great front hall of McNair's fortress was reduced to a steaming swamp of blood, carrion and carnage. The team apparating in around him could only duck back against the walls, pressed flat in half-hysterical awe and terror both as madness, maelstrom and hell descended. Not one of them got  a chance to cast so much as a single spell before every one of the first wall of their opponents was down, and when Neil Cartwright blurred back, he was caked in thick crimson gore from head to toe. Directly opposite him, Minerva McGonagall stared, wide-eyed as he hacked deeply, spitting sideways. Her mind tilted dizzily, a sudden and extremely disturbing visual-slash-associated-memory popping into her mind - a body in its casket, abruptly ended forearms neatly and decorously bandaged, and a  vicious, crooked little smirk adorning a certain first-year’s sweet, round face as he'd retreated from the funeral parlor, friends about him and his grandmother's hand resting lightly on his properly and perfectly offered eleven-year-old arm.

"And that," her lover informed the gobsmacked hordes. His voice was as deep, calm and pleasant it had ever been. "Is How One Gets The Thing Done." Minerva McGonagall's mind jerked back to the horrible and horrifying present as a targeted cleaning charm left his right hand abruptly scrubbed and immaculate. Neil  pulled his  wand out of his pocket, flipping it neatly in his big, callused fingers as he offered her a wink.

“Guess those enhancements Ren did on the wards of the castle have jacked me up a bit too, never mind that there are kids involved. Hogwarts was bound to project me a bit of the extra there as she saw - sees - the implications there through our linked cores.  Mind your tail there, pussycat," he said. He nodded a new wave poured in, looked down at the object in his hand and shrugged, stuffing it away again. "Bugger it. I didn't spend fifty bloody years working that bloody correspondence course just to stand and polish my own wand through the climactic moment."

He blurred again. A memory of her own voice, prim and crisp as it addressed her fifth year Transfiguration classes, ricocheted about McGonagall's brain.

 _The core of any would-be Animagus is only able to accept the possibility, and actuality, of a second, valid version of itself  when it has reached the final and crucial understanding: that is, that its Magical is not, in fact, demanding any essential alteration of his or her essential nature. Physical form, after all, is just that - physical: easily adjusted and modified, as is the world about us, through externalized Transfigurative magics. The soul, though - that which truly defines us - is a rather more tricky beast. True modification there cannot be perpetrated by magic, only through the effects of  both negative and positive human experience and the determined exercise of will. Nothing..._ Nothing _essential, nothing of_ you _, when it comes down to it, truly Changes when you do. You are simply able to present yourself as a reflection_ of _yourself, in your most primal and uncomplicated shape._

A streak of green light barely skimmed her nose as she was hauled back, hard. Lily Potter glared at her even as her wand flashed, flicking with precise, practiced movements. A thick swarm of what looked like tiny black bullets launched themselves from her wand, aimed at the closest arched and doorless entrance of the hall and disappearing beyond. Thin screams of pain and terror sounded.

"What the..."

"Nothing you'd care to sully yourself with," the younger (?) woman said. "Since it came from the Restricted Section and all. You remember it, I'm sure; it’s the part of the library with all the books containing the spells that are actually useful in times of war?” The screams out in the hall redoubled. Distracted, Lily smirked.

"Heads up, Sev!" she called through the door as she launched another volley of bullets. There was a soft pop, and Severus Snape appeared beside her, looking rather disgruntled.

"Bint," he said to his beloved. "All this pent-up vitriol to work with and you could not even leave me one?"

"Oh, stop whining. There's plenty for both of us." Lily dodged as a ripped arm nearly took her head off, and stood on her toes to crane her neck (not missing a beat with her wand). "Then again... Maybe we should just leave him to it?  He seems to have everything under control here, and there _are_ three more floors to be going on with." She squinted, repulsed. "Urrrrrghhhh! Is he actually... _Ewwwwww!_ "

"Oh, for Salazar's sake," Severus said in disgust and a swift wandless Sonorus rose even over the shrieks and screams. "You are a _Slytherin,_ Headmaster, not a mannerless Gryffindor, and a scion of Longbottom too, I thought? Can you not, at the _very_ least, chew with your mouth closed?"

A half-crushed, disembodied head, stringy hair sodden with bloody saliva, splatted at his feet in response. 'It's all there," Lily  opined as she peered down.  "No missing bits, even if it is squashed. That's a relief anyway; everyone knows that it doesn't really count if you don't swallow. Alright. Path’s cleared, second hall to the right, as the saying goes, and straight down till morning.”

Severus snorted with laughter and transformed again.... Minerva offered them both a look of disgust of her own, blurred, and streaked for the east door and the relative bastion of appropriate good breeding awaiting her in Dorrie Carrow's identified lair. No one noticed the plump, bright bumblebee buzzing and darting after her.


	18. Thursday Morning (1): A King At Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The One You've Been Waiting For...
> 
> These next two chapters are being posted together because they go together. They just don't belong together. :
> 
> Random references/quotes/paraphrases: T.S. Eliot, The Princess Bride, The Chronicles of Narnia (The Silver Chair), Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Edna St. Vincent Millay
> 
> Extreme feels, extreme violence, attempted non-con. Major character deaths. 
> 
> Regular Font - Great Britain, 1991.  
> Bold Font - Brazil, 1971.
> 
> Comments welcomed and appreciated as always. I love you all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab (Portuguese Brazilian)
> 
> Quindim - a traditional Brazilian custard made primarily of sugar, egg yolks and ground coconut
> 
> Acarajé - deep-fried spiced bean/pea fritters with shrimp
> 
> Moqueca - a light, rich seafood stew cooked in a clay pot
> 
> Feijoada - slow-simmered black bean and pork stew
> 
> Cabrões - bastards/fuckers
> 
> Querido- dear (term of endearment)
> 
> Vamos! Let’s go!
> 
> Ei! - Hey!
> 
> (Vocab- French)
> 
> Pain au chocolat - a light, flaky sweet roll stuffed and baked with dark chocolate
> 
> Haute couture - high fashion

 

**_Castelobruxo  
_ **

**_May 5, 1971_ **

**Carmen Lopez took, the circumstances considered and from Lucius’ point of view, a bit of a strategically perplexing approach when informing the student body of Castelobruxo of its new priorities.**

**She told them the truth.**

**“It is thus,” she informed the gathered, stunned hordes. “Padre here is going to cast four spells now. The first will modify the school wards in a manner that will dissuade any and every individual currently residing away from Castelobruxo from visiting till the end of the school year. The second will automatically render those here with any inclination to betray the rest of us** **_dis_** **inclined to leave the castle grounds till the end of the school year. It will not alter anyone,” she emphasized. “Simply protect everyone else.  The third will be a geas such as the one cast on us last September, which will disallow everyone here from accidentally discussing this subject with anyone who is not here, or again, when away from the castle grounds. The final spell…” She took a deep breath. “The final spell will obliviate everyone here at the end of June of the memory of this meeting and all related events, and provide us with a collective alternate history of the next seven weeks that anyone searching your minds in the future will accept as truth.”**

 **Lucius watched as the students digested the implications there, not just of the spells themselves, but of the fact that before them was sitting a man who could actually** **_do_ ** **all that. He didn’t sympathize with the government in any way, shape, or form, but had a sudden and clear understanding of exactly,** **_exactly_ ** **why they were so very eager to ensure their control over him, by whatever means necessary.**

 **“I am reminding you now,” Carmen continued. “That this is a vital matter. An absolutely vital matter, on every level. The alternatives… The alternatives are of Satan. And no, the win is not guaranteed,  but by all the saints and angels, even if we do** **_not_ ** **win - if all must be lost; if** **_we_ ** **must be lost -  may it never be said that any one of us will stand before our beautiful Jesus when the Long Night is over with blood on our hands for the fact that we went out in the willing service of the Unholy.”**

**Still, the occupants of the dining hall exchanged nervous glances. The young woman shook her head, leaning forward, hands flat on the podium.**

**_“Nao,”_** **she said passionately. “** ** _Nao_** **. All of you. All of you,** ** _listen_** **to me! Hear what I am saying!** ** _This is a lethifold we may fight!_** **This is a lethifold we are able to** ** _defeat!_** **And again, whether we defeat it or not…  What of it, that none of us will remember? What does it matter? God will remember. Padre will remember.** ** _We will be obliviated either way,_** **and with them, at least, we know we are in good hands! The best!  With them, we know that nothing will be lost, only hidden as is necessary, and after the Long Night is over they will remind us of this day, and we will know again -** ** _everyone_** **will know, all generations and all nations across the ages, that when it came to this battle: our** ** _crucial_** **hour, our generation’s** ** _defining_** **hour - we stood as one, as an** ** _army_** **of one, in the names of all who came before us and all who shall come after,** ** _and_** **_we declared ourselves free_** **!”**

**Two and half thousand people sat, stunned, staring at her...**

**Then every single one of them - the teachers and support staff included - shot to their feet, stamping and screaming and cheering till the rafters shook.**

**“But what may we do, Carmen?” a second year called when the roar had calmed somewhat. “How may we all help when none of us know anything of the lessons** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera must learn but the seventh years?”**

 **“I am very glad you asked that,** **_Senhorita_ ** **Alvarez.” Carmen collected herself. “As it leads directly to my next point. As of the moment we all leave this hall, all of Castelobruxo is on vigil. We have just over seven weeks, and for every second of every day and night of those weeks, a certain number of you will be assigned to the chapel. When you go there, you will get on your knees and you will pray that** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera may maintain strength and courage through this time of trial, and that he will achieve success. When you are** **_not_ ** **in the chapel, you will make everything you do a prayer for him through your active kindness and understanding and support of him and each other. You will make of** **_yourselves_ ** **prayers, do you understand - individual, perfect runes in the sequence of the holy wards that will, God willing, rise through our efforts and surround and protect him, and through him all of us, from all evil.”**

**Every head nodded determinedly. Carmen’s hands gripped the podium again.**

**“And while you do this,” she continued.  “If you are tempted to think on it as hopeless, I wish you to think on this. To remember this. To remember that, when it comes down to it and in all ways that are important, Ramone Carriera is already a Warder. When he was dying, he offered us his prayers and remembrances - the prayers and remembrances that saved us. This... This is simply how we shall tell him we love him for it. How we shall honour him and the gift he gave us - the gift of ourselves, free and unaltered.** **_Hell will not have him_** **, not if we have anything to say about it, and we do.** **_We do_** **. We will say it all so unceasingly and so very, very loudly that all of Heaven will hear us. We will say it loudly enough that everyone there will be praying too, all of the angels and archangels and the communion of saints, and they will say with it, ‘Nossa** **_Senhora_** **, Jesus, please! Listen to these children and give them what they want, just so that we may all have a little peace!’  And when the mourning bell tolls these next seven weeks, we will not be angry. We will grieve, but we will too rejoice, that there is one more of us to go straight to Heaven and carry our prayers to our beautiful Jesus in person.”**

 **“You can truly do this, Padre?” a student ventured. “Truly? All of these spells? So that there are no possibilities of repercussions, no matter the outcome? You are** **_able_ to** **do it, and without compromising your vows?”**

 **“** ** _Sim._ ** **It is the only possible moral thing** **_to_ ** **do,** **_Senhor_ ** **Paulo.” The priest’s face was severe and somber. “The alternatives, as Carmenzinha has said, are simply not acceptable, on any level.”**

 **“It is not illegal or immoral to pray,” a fourth year conceded. “And if we are to be obliviated one way or the other, whether at the end of June or the beginning of September, I would personally much rather trust my brain to Padre than to those** **_cabrões.”_ **

**Everyone murmured in agreement. Carmen Lopez locked her slim jaw.**

**“There is one more thing I have to say,” she said loudly. “If I may have your attention again?” The student and teacher body looked at her inquiringly. She braced herself visibly.**

**“There is something you should know,” she said. “All of you. I wish you to know that this plan... It was not my plan at all. It was not Padre’s, or the Headmistress’s.  It was** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy’s. He came to me, though he knew I did not like or respect him at all, and told me what was coming after** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera confided in him, and he asked me to speak with all of you. He did this because it is a vital matter, and because he knew that if he did it himself, we would not listen. So he came to me and asked me to tell you - not of his part; he did not expect me or want me to do that; in fact he asked me not to  - but to ask this of you, not just for** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera and Padre’s sake, but for each of our sakes, too. And though he did not say it, I know that he asked me because…” Her jaw locked further. “Because even if some of us were made to do so by Padre, we helped him remember his mama when she was lost and he was left alone. He wished - and again, he did not say so aloud -  to acknowledge the grace that we showed him, but mostly, above even that, to show his personal appreciation for what we are obliged to do here, for those who live Away.’**

**No one seemed to know what to say, or even how to react, to that.**

**“So now he will be helping us,” Carmen continued. “He will study with us, and he will pray with us. He has shown that he stands with us, so for these few weeks, he** **_is_ ** **one of us. As for my part…” She turned to the dumbfounded Lucius, her voice as clear, clipped and  precise as his had ever been. “For all of the sins that I have personally committed against you, Luis Malfoy… For all of the assumptions I have made, that everyone beyond our lands is, by definition, guilty of the sins of the few: that they do not care for us or what we do, that they are nothing, and therefore can have nothing of worth to offer...” She strode forward, jumped lightly off the dais and strode forward again, standing before him and holding out her hand, palm up and formally. “I beg your forgiveness.”**

**Lucius looked down at her offered hand - then stood, pushing back his chair, and covered her palm with his, brushing it lightly, and flicking his fingers in the gesture Ramone had taught him long months before. Turned his own palm over. She covered, brushed and flicked in turn. They shook firmly. Her hand was icy and clammy with nerves and fear. His lips tilted up at her, just barely.**

**“I will remember your name, Miss Lopez,” he said in his very best arrogant, bored drawl. “If you will remember mine.”**

**“You will be very hard to forget,” Miss Lopez conceded. “If only because you are so very annoying. Did you inherit that trait from your poor lost mama?”**

**“As for that, you must ask** **_Senhora Professora_ ** **Hernandez. She has told me that they became acquainted while she was on her ISEP year at Hogwarts, and that they promised to remember each other when she came back here.”**

 **Carmen blinked as she looked over at the smiling Headmistress. “Truly, Professora?** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy’s mama was your friend?”**

**“Yes,” Hernandez said. “I was the only ISEP student assigned to the House of Ravenclaw that year. Callida” - she used the name deliberately - “was a first year, and the only local girl of her age Sorted there as well, so we kept company.”**

**“But was she annoying?”**

**“Some thought so, because she talked a great deal and was outspoken, passionate and energetic in all ways, but I did not find her so at all. It was the year my twin sister was lost, and she was, in the months that followed and in every way, my own defender and defense against the darkness that overtook my soul. I would be a very different person today if I had not met her, and I do not know that I would have liked that person at all. As for you,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy...” The inclined head turned to a full bow. “You are truly your mother’s son. She would be very proud of the man you have become, I know, and I will remember your name as I remember hers.”**

**Lucius couldn’t help himself at that. He bolted over to her, wrapped her up in his arms and hugged her convulsively, lifting her right off her feet. Inez Hernandez squawked, startled, then blurred and hugged him back, squeezing him in her massive coils till he flailed and gagged, wild-eyed. The student body laughed uproariously.**

 

* * *

 

_The Wards Room Below McNair’s Fortress_

_Newport, Wales_

_November 27th, 1991_

It had taken Charlie a bit to process all of the implications, but process them he had. The focused and concentrated magical treatment afforded him that first month at St. Mungo's, the induced coma and the wholesale introduction of Other-Bloody-People's-Magic considered, had left his core with actual _holes_ under the protective grafts. When he'd gone through the Horntails’ fire, all that was not him - purely and absolutely _him_ \- had been burned away, leaving nothing but a bare magical husk. No way to rebuild _that;_ you had to have something to work with after all, so the great bloody drama queens had woven the very last residuals of their own magical signatures, drawn from magical (if yet draconic) stem cells from the physical heartstrings, around his core’s essential skeleton, setting them to adapt to his original template on the ongoing basis. Then… Then, just before things there had gone too far, and Charlie’s renewing core had reached a state where the growing magics would no longer accept a more developed draconic infusion - in that one final split second of integration marked by his and Dash’s marital consummation - the two Horntails had pulled the ultimate fast one.  Rather than following the hosepipe straight on to whatever After was theirs, they’d rigged a side door into the wand that their pretty bit of patchwork had made of Charlie's core. There, they had promptly and permanently laid claim to his internal sitting room’s sofa, telly, and remote: scaly smirks and smug self-satisfaction set to an all-time personal high.

And that would have been that, really, save for the one more thing. Now that they were _inside_ him, sitting prettily and attending to his every thought and action (because, for all intents and purposes, his actions _were_ their actions) their understanding of the way that humans thought was actually evolving a bit - just enough to be able to grasp, ever so dimly, that ever-elusive concept of the metaphor. And when Dash had explained the physical structure of the Dark Mark to the Malfoys, and had gone off on that bit on how blood magic and bio-runes could interact, but how one couldn’t expect them to make nice just because you tossed them on top of each other and mashed their bits together...

Charlie’s own great dirty mind had, predictably, offered up the obvious visual. One quick little internal snigger, four inquiring cocked scaly eye-ridges, his split-second internal explanation of the logical associatives (blood magic equals pureblood equaled Luke, and bio-runes equaled Dash himself) and the great bloody wankers had gone _on_ logically associating, and then deducing, of their own accord. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be able to just sit Luke and Dash on top of each other and expect them to make nice - _i.e._ produce their grandchildren -  for the mere fact of proximity; the two would have to be wired together on the runic basis, or their mutual contributions would just sit there and rot.

So wire them they had. Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, down the snake’s mouth and into the depths, a quick runic round-about here, a closed road and re-directed route there, a hasty snatch-and-grab of more bedamned magical stem cells from all four humans’ individual cores shoved through Riddle’s runic mixer and redirected back to simmer away in each, and Dash-and-Charlie and Luke-and-Niss were good to go. Reproductively speaking, anyway.

The wrangler understood them a bit more too, now. The big drama queens didn’t reject metaphors in favour of the literal. They rejected anything that obscured active facilitation of _truth_ \- the truth that in their context was absolute: that each set of mated Horntails was in fact, one soul divided at conception into two bodies, male and female bodies, by that one soul’s magic and for the sole purpose of being able to generate _new_ souls. That little confirmed tidbit explained many things, including the records on the Reserves that showed that the few times there were surviving eggs from a Horntail hatching, that there were always even numbers. If one half of the divided soul died in the shell or at birth, after all, the other would follow automatically. Even their melodramatics were meant to facilitate reproduction, on the principle that if they were constantly attracting attention, they might just attract the attention of someone inclined to help them along at any potentially difficult moment.

It certainly explained why Horntails were so utterly feral when it came to guarding their nests and hatchlings. It _definitely_ explained why Mola and Karrash, or more precisely, Mola/Karrash, had jumped so quickly on the chance to join the Project. Faced with the reality that their adopted child was dying long before his time, and offered the suggestion that he and his soulmate could defeat the odds and survive together if only they had transportation to a new and distant territory… Well. They were facing their own end anyway. From their point of view, there had been no choice to make. Preservation of life was, as it had always been and always would be, the thing. _The_ , or at least their, _only_ thing.

It had rather thrown them, mind you, when upon arrival, they’d confirmed that somewhere during the process of conception there had been a little glitch, and that Charlie and Dash’s divided soul had ended up in two bodies of the same gender. Presented with Lucius and Narcissa though: one two-bodied female soul (or rather, thanks to the curse, one two-bodied female core) seeking their/her mate _for the sole and specific reason of producing children_ …

They’d revised their interpretation of past and current events immediately.  Charlie and Dash, suffering as they were from that odd little same-gendered glitch, must obviously, together, equal one half of the single soul - CharlieDashLuciusNarcissa, - that, at the moment of conception, had not split into two bodies - Chash and Lucissa -  but _four_ bodies - that is, Charlie/Dash  and Lucius/Narcissa, each pair in its own egg. Somehow, the great morons had surmised, the two eggs had been separated, and their products raised in different interdimensional territories. Interdimensional reunion accomplished, the Horntails’ magic had proceeded to fuse Charlie/Dash’s cores (at least as it pertained to reproduction) on the night of their marriage to Chash’s -- the male half of the single soul.  The next day, having taken the opportunity to re-confirm that the curse that had fused Lucius/Narcissa’s cores (for reproductive purposes) had, in fact, turned them into Lucissa... A little of this, a little of that, a bit more of the applied maxim ‘if you want something done properly, do it yourself’ to ensure that there were, and would be, no more weird little glitches...

The implications, Ren had told them all after he’d examined the modified curse placed on Niss, were a bit unnerving. Not only would all four of their bodies be required for conception, but, as per Horntail tradition, there was an approximately one hundred percent chance that they’d end up with twins every time. The twins would yet be human, no question, with distinct and self-sufficient human souls, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was that the Horntails’ strictly physical reproductive template was now involved, and as far as that template was concerned, babies came in pairs.

He wasn’t a dragon, Charlie thought as he worked away industriously down in the main Wards room below Walden McNair’s fortress. Not even part dragon; his soul, after all, had absolutely nothing to do with his core, and that was definitely and yet all human.  In purely magical terms, though, he was definitely _something_ . Something else _._ Something new.  Not Dragon, not Child, not Mate, not Other Dragon… Not even Other.   _The_ Other, maybe. But the newlyweds’ brief return to the Reserves after the interview with Ragnuk in Bucharest had confirmed that the wrangler _smelled_ like Dragon, at least to other dragons. The looks on the local Mola/Karrash's faces had been worth every second of the five years of hell. Charlie had laughed so hard he'd very nearly pissed himself. Going on ten centuries with no children to show for it, and one suddenly appeared before them in human form? Their bewildered, ecstatic delight had been the funniest and most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. They'd actually tried to _cuddle_ him, and as for the rest of the Reserves’ residents...

Wrangling just wasn't going to be much of a challenge anymore, Charlie thought with a  regretful pang. Weasley was, indeed, their King. The Tasmanian Steel-Hides had been adorable with it, fluttering their eyelids and murmuring and cooing as they absently allowed him and a few of the other wranglers to trim their talons and check them for loose scales. Ren had powdered them down, and now each of their incoming army was equipped with a tiny compressed tablet of Better-than-Bezoars. Animagi such as Calum King, after all, had nasty tendencies to poison. Walden McNair had that nasty tendency to adopt pets with poison. Dorrie Carrow just _was_ poison. Ifor Driscoll wasn't so subtle. He was just an arsehole.

A great _flaming_ arsehole, even. Back in the present moment, Charlie shook his hand and blew on his smoking fingertips as before him, the man on the floor writhed and screamed. Somehow, no one had ever noticed that Ifor Driscoll (probably because he spent most of his public life riding a broom) walked on his toes seven days a month, and moreover, as per the full and complete recorded confession that the wrangler now had stowed safely in his jeans pocket, liked to star in his own productions. Branwen Driscoll-of-the-Cardiff-Driscolls was luckier than she knew. Every now and again the cabal leaders would sacrifice one of their own family members to throw off suspicion. Luna Lovegood had been slated by Dorrie Carrow for an extended visit, but the anticipated opening act on tomorrow’s full moon, before Lupin _et al_ had come down on Edinburgh anyway, had had Uncle Ifor inviting his niece out for tea and a role in a Very Special Late Night Version of Little Red Riding Hood featuring Ginevra ‘Niamh’ Weasley. _My,_ what big teeth you have, Uncle Ifor!

 _Yeah,_ Little Red’s indignant big brother (never mind his incensed, utterly _offended_ new flat-mates) had thought. _No._

"Alright there, love?" the wrangler inquired of Niss. He couldn’t help but worry about her; she'd never been in an actual battle before. She glanced up from her own task-at-hand, blurred, padded over and nudged his smoking fingers. He examined them.

“Ah," he said. "Yeah,” and in a quintessentially manly, pathetic, plaintive and over-piteous kind of way… “Ow?"

Narcissa nosed his hands gently again. They healed over, good as new. She blurred back and returned to her work. Her soft grey shirt was in rags, her pretty little wand seized and snapped as soon as she’d apparated in directly in front of Driscoll and his mates. The leering smiles on their faces had only lasted as long as it had taken them to process Charlie, apparated in directly behind them in order to take best advantage while they were distracted.

"Rude," the wrangler had observed disapprovingly as he’d boosted the woman up, setting her neatly on her feet and brushing her off. "She's a lady, this one, and it's her first time out besides. What kind of impression are you all giving her with _that_ kind of welcome?"

"Not a very good one," Narcissa had agreed, accepting his gallantly offered cardigan as a replacement for her shirt. It smelled quite nice, she thought as she shrank it just enough so that it didn’t fall right off her - of oranges, woodsmoke, and slightly burnt nutmeg. Narcissa had always been very fond of nutmeg. "I must say. Then again, I wasn't expecting much. Have your word with Mr.  Driscoll there, would you, dear, while I... Ah. There we go." A proxy model of the entire fortress sprang up. She pulled out a folded sheet of parchment from her pocket and enlarged it, setting it to hover as she began to work carefully, tapping here and there with her fingertips as delicately as if playing her piano, then pulling out a biro to inscribe three series of delicate sigils in the glowing lines of the triangulated cornerstone. Charlie just went about his business briskly and efficiently… She took it all back, Narcissa thought as she copied neatly from Ren’s provided templates and kept half an intrigued-if-mildly-revolted eye out. Her mother might have had a word or two to say on Charlie’s status as a blood-traitor, but once she’d seen him exercising his creative side as he was now…

“Just about finished here, love.” Charlie spelled his hands clean. “How about you?”

“Done and done.” Narcissa rose to her feet, tucking the biros and parchment away briskly. “All alarms and contingencies set. May I keep the jumper, for the moment at least?’

“Course. You sure you don’t want an escort up to your next?”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Trust me, after all those years as the Stepford Queen, I have subtle and discreet down to an artform. No one’s going to see me coming or going, not unless it’s too late for them anyway.”

“Brilliant.” He grinned as they slipped out, and as they reached the branching end of the corridor, kissed her cheek as gallantly as he’d offered her the jumper. “And this is our stop. Fantastic first date, love. I’ll call you for coffee later?’

“Hazelnut. Black, half a sugar.”

“You got it.” He winked at her as he headed off to the right, whistling cheerily. She watched him go, shaking her head. Her mother and Auntie Walburga, she reflected, would not only have admired his technique, but might very well have dueled over which of them would have gotten to adopt him.

Right after they’d finished dueling over who got to shag him.

Narcissa glanced around, flexed her fingers, and headed purposefully off to the left. Instead of continuing straight through, though, she stopped perhaps ten feet on, peering up. Sure enough, just as per Luke’s particularly private observations…

She flexed her knees and jumped, clinging for a moment to an abruptly sprouted ledge half up, boosting herself up, then flexing again and boosting herself a second time. She peered again into the pitch-black gap in the wall before her, and pointed. The area beyond lit softly. Unsurprisingly, her husband and his thoughtful little gestures considered, all  was sparkling, lemon-fresh and vermin-free.

“Onwards and upwards,” she told herself bracingly, and ducking inside the shaft, snapped her fingers again. An iron ladder appeared before her, anchored to the wall and rising up into the darkness. She doused the soft _lumos_ she’d cast, conjured a tiny ball of blue light, set it to hover just above her, and placed her hands and feet firmly on the rungs. Each rung disappeared as she removed her feet from it and went onto the next.

 

* * *

 

**_Castelobruxo  
_ **

**_June 17, 1971_ **

**“These books,” Lucius informed his lover as he sprawled half over the kitchen table, slurping tea and turning the pages of ‘The Complete Narnia’, “are bloody buggering** **_brilliant.”_ ** **Said kitchen was located not in the lower reaches of Castelobruxo, but in the tiny sky-lit attic that Ramone had appropriated for the cause. It had been expanded considerably since his first nap there, courtesy of the practical application of all of the lessons he had been absorbing, and was now a comfortable, fully decorated flat.**

**“They truly are,” Ramone agreed.  Lucius had decided after the first half-week of his lover’s adjusted study schedule, when it was obvious that the imposed isolation was affecting him as much as the stress of the looming deadline, that he would keep him temporal company. The decision had been an excellent one in every sense; not only did the young Brazilian have companionship, moral support and an in-house study partner, but the mere seven weeks left to the lovers had been stretched, courtesy of the careful, prudent and judicious employment of the time turner, to a full additional four months. “I am very glad that you are enjoying them. They have only been sitting on my nightstand for the last fourteen months after all;  I am a little surprised that it has taken your curiosity this long to manifest.” He tapped the silver spoon he was holding on the edge of the portable cauldron, picked up a slice of lemon, squeezed three precise drops into the mix, and, peeling the strip of rind off neatly with his teeth, proceeded to eat the remainder as he stirred again. “Have you managed to realize the true identity of the main protagonist yet?”**

**“I am not entirely stupid, Carriera. I am quite capable of recognizing an allegory. Do you think there are bookshops in England that sell this series, because one way or another, I** **_do_ ** **intend to obtain my own copies.”**

 **“The series was written** **_in_ ** **England, my Luz. Do you never read the notes on the back covers, or are you incapable then of extrapolating such things from the fact that the author writes with your accent?”**

**“What accent? I do not have an accent. You have an accent.”**

**“Mm. Time?”**

**“One hour, fifty two minutes.”**

**“Excellent.” The young Brazilian set the cauldron to simmer, and poured himself a glass of juice. “Medicinal Herbology, Nomaj Appreciation, and History of Magic.** **_Vamos_ ** **!”**

**“Mm… Name me four ingredients incorporated in the creation of a draught imitating the  properties of the apples that Digory Kirke retrieved from the Tree of Life. Reference the specific book, its original source in the specifically Christian context, and how the particular version of the fruit is employed in the mythology of three non-Eurocentric Nomaji-turned-Magical cults and/or religions.”**

**“Willow bark for pain relief, crimson nightshade for a sleep aid, scaled coconut husk for the systems revivant - scraped against the grain, not with - and a half-measure of sweat extracted from the leaves of an untreated feverberry bush for the raised temperature. Alternatively, if one has a phoenix in the family, one may simply floo him and ask him if he would mind very much sobbing melodramatically over the sliced fruit. Literary text - The Magician’s Nephew, by C.S. Lewis.  Religious source - The Old Testament, Genesis and the Garden of Eden. As for the three cults and/or religions… We are living in a Catholic country, Malfoy-from-England. Such questions on the comparative content of variant, and therefore by definition heathen sects, be they Nomaji** **_or_ ** **Magical, are never written into our exams. They do not match the local and approved theology.”**

**“Good to know. And well done on the rest. Pass me the jerky, if you would not mind?”**

**“I cannot. I ate it all when I was attempting the first stage of turning lead into gold day before yesterday.”**

**“They will not actually ask you to do that, will they?”**

**“Perhaps as a bonus question. They write it in every year, I am told, in the hopes that at some point a particularly creative student will offer up something to inspire new paths of research there.”**

**“Ah. Related derivative references: Cross-Cultural Economics. How much lead would it take you, all else being equal, to create one hundred gold galleons that meet Gringotts International’s currently acceptable gold-to-other ratios, given again the current Nomaji exchange rate of twelve-point-six American dollars to the galleon, last years’ average cost for a one ton load of lead, again in American dollars, and Nicolas Flamel’s latest theoretical projections on the subject?”**

**“That is a trick question, Malfoy-from-England. Gringotts International prides itself that the gold ratios employed in minting their galleons involve strictly pureblooded minerals. They would never dream on offering currency whose lines were originally sourced from such base, common and unsuitable elements as lead. Also, Nicolas Flamel does not bother himself with theoretical research. That is his wife’s field. He is in charge of the practical related:** **_i.e._ ** **blowing up the conjugal laboratory at the last recorded average rate of five per year.”**

**“Very good. Creature-Specific Linguistics: say all that again now, only in Parseltongue.”**

**Ramone rattled, or rather hissed, rapidly.**

**“I shall have to take your word for that one, but I shall offer you the presumptive ‘bueno’ anyway. Snakes… Mm… Magizoology. What is the only other animal besides the rooster able to kill basilisks, and how are they reputed to manage it?”**

**“Weasels, and by scent. The weasel’s scent, that is; the smell of their breath or urine, depending on the source material, and sadly, the poor thing must inevitably die with it as well. Have you ever seen a weasel, my Luz? We do not have them here in South America.”**

**“I have. Hogwarts is overrun with them, and more so with every generation. Males, mostly. The most recent prime example graduated three years ago, married a shrew, and is now, I am told, the proud father of a quite surprisingly normal and adorable human boy named William. No basilisks, though, so I have never had the chance to witness the interaction of the two species in real life.”**

**“William Weasel?** **_Pobrecito!_ ** **He sounds like a character in a children’s book. Quite possibly Narnia again. Do you think his family may have had talking animals as ancestors?”**

**“I am quite, quite sure of it.”**

**“Mm. And from your personal acquaintance again, and in your opinion…  Urine again, or simple bad breath?’**

**“I have never kissed one so I cannot comment on the bad breath, but the ones I have met again are all quite adept in taking the piss. The one in particular again… You simply do not want to piss him off. He is mild and amiable, but utterly vicious when provoked, particularly after he was assigned as a prefect and took on the responsibility for the younger students of his House.”**

**“Mm?”**

**“He is the anti-Abraxas,” Lucius translated. “His wife is a Prewett, and that is all there is to be said about** **_that_ ** **, but I do envy his child, and future children, their father. Do you know, I think you would quite like him? He is quite obsessed with all things Nomaji, particularly gadgets and machines and designing non-magical contraptions of all sorts that mimic the magical equivalent.”**

**“Why?” Ramone asked curiously. His lover shrugged.**

**“He is rumoured to be close to a cousin of his who was born a Squib. Certainly he is quite kind again, if his interactions with the younger students are indicative, and would not want a family member to feel that he or she was inferior simply because they suffer from a magically latent core. The idea of finding workable equivalencies for all benefits they might otherwise miss out on would appeal to him.”**

**“How very enlightened of him. That is not a common attitude, even here. Squibs are not disdained, but it is always a worry for the families that produce them because they are that much more likely to be lost. Typically, they are either over-coddled and smothered, or put at the emotional distance from parents who feel that they cannot afford to get attached.”**

**And with that observation, his mood dropped abruptly. Lucius put both book and tea down and came around the table, dropping a kiss on the unruly dark head as he offered him a firm, gentle massage. Ramone sighed and leaned back into his hands. Another kiss fell.**

**“It will be fine.” Lucius reassured him. “You will be fine. You have not missed a question in a full week, Carriera-from-Brazil, in any of the ten primaries.’**

**“That is only the ten primaries though. You are certain that they will not try to rephrase the requirements there at the last moment?”**

**“No. They will not. The wording is precise and inarguable; you do not have to earn Highest Honours in anything but those ten courses. You simply have to pass the rest - and the ISW is putting forth the committee to grade the important ten, while the schools in which you are registered as a remote student will be marking the others. That means that there are only four courses of the twenty three that are being marked by the locals, and not one of them is one of the prerequisites on the list. And it would look very odd, mm, if, having attained perfect grades all the way through school here, you suddenly were to fail all of them? It might very well provoke questions from those other countries reviewing your entire transcript.”**

**Ramone just rubbed his eyes. Lucius hauled his chair about bodily and straddled his lap. Ramone’s hands slipped under his shirt, caressing him.**

**‘I will miss this so much,” he said wistfully. “I know that you must obliviate me of these extra days because of the time turner, but you must be sure to remind me of every detail, heh, when the Long Night is over?”**

**“I will,” Lucius promised. Ramone boosted him up, and led him to their bedroom. There were not two beds in this version, but one large one. They lay down together. Ramone pulled him into his arms.**

**“It has been wonderful,”’ he said again. “This time together, regardless of everything else. God is so good, truly.”**

**“Mm.” The young Englishman propped himself up on his elbow and worked a dark tangle through his fingers. “Carriera?”**

**“Yes, my Luz?”**

**“What would you do if you were to wake up tomorrow to the realization that all of the lethifolds had suffered a collective and very unfortunate accident in the night?”**

**“Cry a great deal,” Ramone said promptly. “Travel a great deal... Visit a great many people in a great many places and tell them exactly what I think of them. I imagine that** **_Tio_ ** **would like to join me there. It would be great fun.” He traced his collar. “Come to you, and assist you in your war, and when all was said and done...“**

**“Mm?”**

**"I do not know,” he confessed. “Build a snow castle with you, perhaps, and ride a hippogryph?”**

**“You do not have to wait for that,” Lucius pointed out. “We will do those things next winter. My family has a hunting lodge on a small loch in Scotland, and Narcissa and I will make arrangements to bring you there for a weekend over the Christmas holidays. There are ways that it may be managed discreetly, and we will employ every single one for the cause.”**

**“But will there be a hippogryph?”**

**“Yes. One with a very large bow on it, and eyes only for you.”**

**“So nice. I would put forth a petition to initiate a new international sporting event.”**

**“Uh?”**

**“I would call it the Amazon Open. It would be a world-wide event for speed racers, along the entire length of the Amazon River.  The best of the best, heh, like the Global Invitationals in Combat Dueling. Four thousand miles, and you would not be allowed to simply ride over the canopy either. It would be a test of skill and endurance in all ways, not just of who rides fastest in the end, or as in the case with the Invitationals, hits the hardest.”**

**“That sounds like an excellent plan. Malfoy would be happy to sponsor your entry there, Carriera-from-Brazil, and expects to earn a great, great deal of money from your victory. Narcissa and I will bring all of your six godchildren -  Ramone, Ramone, Ramone, Ramone, Ramone, and oh yes, Ramone - to cheer you on.”**

**Ramone snorted with laughter and rolled him on his back. Lucius went easily, closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he spread his legs so that his lover could settle between them. A lush, ripe mouth feathered his, then bit softly at his throat.**

**“Ahhhhhh…”**

**“You are such a wanton, Malfoy-from-England,” Ramone murmured. “So eager for it, always. For me. Whatever will you do, heh, when I am not there to give you what you need every morning and night?”**

**“Fantasize a great deal.” Lucius gasped as the soft biting turned to sharper, edged nipping. “Send you a great many letters… Carriera,** **_please!”_ **

**“Time?”**

**“One hour sixteen min… AHHHHHH!”**

**“Just enough, then,” Carriera said, pleased, and reached under the pillows.**

**“What is** **_that_ ** **?”**

**“Area-specific topical aphrodisiac. I am very good, heh; I brewed it myself!  Though it is quite, quite illegal, so we shall have to make sure there is not a single drop left…’**

 

* * *

 

John Dawlish was, if one didn’t count his complete inability to commit to any kind of relationship outside the work environment, a man of many talents -  a decent all-purpose Quidditch player, a more-than-decent home brewer, a complete shark when it came Muggle Scrabble, and one of the Ministry of Magic’s most reliable Aurors. He was also _the_ best curse-breaker ever trained at the hands of the goblin nation, so when Lucius Malfoy pointed out the stickiest section of the entire fortress, coincidentally leading down from the third floor south wing to the only door into the entire basement level, every eye in the conference chambers immediately turned his way.

“Sounds like fun,” he’d said agreeably. “My will and my life insurance are both up-to-date; no codicils since the la… No, wait. My cousin Mike sicked up on my best leather robes the last time we went to the pub. Someone make sure that the cleaning costs come out of his percentage of the inheritance if it all goes bollocks-up, and make sure he knows why if he whinges.”

No significant amount of time later, Dawlish sat back on his heels before the final door leading down to the fourth floor and considered his lack of options. The young goblin assigned to help him break the lesser curses on the last stretch of the corridor glanced over her shoulder.

“Problem?” she inquired.

‘You could say that. The incumbents have anticipated my attendance at the festivities tonight.”

“Huh?”

“The fuckers knew I’d be called in,” Dawlish translated. “For the particular job, even. There’s only one curse here, but it’s designed to…” He paused. “Do me a favour, and run on back and get Lobhammer for me? She’s working the third stretch from the front.”

“I’ve got small hands too, if that’s what you want her for. You sure I can’t help?”

“Not this time. Go on now.”

The goblin lowered her curse-picks and headed off. As soon as she went around the corner, Dawlish hauled out his wand. A semi-transparent wall immediately blocked him off from the (physically and psychologically) twisted corridor behind him. He crouched again, and re-examined the small diagram etched into the huge slab of solid steel before him. It was absolutely unmistakable. The thing wasn’t just a hex, it was a message - a message addressed to a very particular individual who’d dedicated his life to bringing down the ferals who had stolen away his six-year-old brother and left him shredded on the family doorstep two days after the midsummer full moon exactly twenty-five years ago. It had not actually been intended as a taunt; werewolves were known for their respect for pack, after all, and in their minds, there was no reason why the bodies of those that they stole away from their families for entertainment should not be returned to their own once the party was over.

However well-intended, active demonstrations of such culture-specific niceties did not lend themselves well to cross-cultural conciliation and closure.

John Dawlish had been as happy as anyone else when the cure for lycanthropy had been published. He was well aware that a certain number of werewolves dedicated their own lives to minimizing the damage that they were cursed to inflict on the world, and he had nothing but respect and sympathy for them.  In his mind though, there was only one cure for creatures such as Fenrir Greyback and Paul Wurtenburg, and it didn’t involve Mr. Smiley’s Enviro-Cleaning Fluid. He wasn’t exactly shy about expressing his opinion there either, though since he, like Alastor Moody, was more of a man of action than otherwise, he didn’t use a lot of words.  All blithe, disarming and naive self-presentation aside (which it wasn’t),  they tended to compromise his ability to sneak up on the fuckers and blow them to hell. He never used his own face when out and about either, preferring as he had from the get-go to keep his particular little hobby, like the details of his personal history, strictly to himself... As the years had passed though, and his anonymous alter-ego had become an official pain-in-the-arse in certain moonlit circles, he’d known his time was running out. Case in point, the friendly little memo before him now, greeting him by name and letting him know that if _the_ recognized best curse-breaker in the history of all Aurors wanted his team to have even the barest shot at saving this month’s anticipated entertainment from the cursed ferals who had left the smeared remains of little Liam Dawlish on the family doorstep, that that curse-breaker was just going to have to leave his own smeared remains on _their_ doorstep as pre-paid collateral.

Dawlish rose to his feet. He’d told the young goblin to fetch Lobhammer for a reason. She was an expert on assassination curses, and as his first and only former partner at Gringotts, was the only individual of any species in whom he’d ever confided the relevant details of his past. She’d take one look around and there’d be no doubt in her mind exactly what had happened. She would make sure his parents knew. That they knew that, in the end, the ferals hadn’t defeated him at all - that he’d died, but that he’d still, through her and the rest of his chosen pack, taken down every last one of the fuckers with him.

It wasn’t going to be quick, he knew, and it wasn’t going to be painless. That would have been far, far too much to expect under even the most benign of circumstances. He settled himself firmly, and placed both palms flat against the last door. Behind him, he heard Lobhammer’s quick, light footsteps approaching. He removed his left hand and pointed his wand at the semi-transparent wall. It turned completely opaque. He cast a Silence spell - she didn’t need to hear anything any more than she needed to see it. It would take three minutes he estimated, five maybe, and once it was done, the wall would dissolve and the way would be clear.

Bit sticky, maybe, but clear. John Dawlish tucked his wand behind his ear, replaced his left hand on the door again, and  before he could stop himself, before he could think again on what was coming, uttered the single word that the message on the door had told him would trigger the last curse he would ever break.

_“Liam.”_

 

* * *

 

**_Castelobruxo  
_ **

**_June 21, 1971_ **

**“I must say,” Ramone mused as he flipped through a tall stack of newspapers over dinner the evening before the start of exams. “I am truly disappointed. I know that the government does not expect me to succeed, and I am not saying that I feel unloved, but it would have been kind of them to at least pretend that they believe in me. Never mind that as they plan to kill me, a little pre-obituary acknowledging my valiant efforts might have been politically prudent on their part. There is not a single word here on how Brazil is presenting a candidate for the ISW, and that** **_is_ ** **the kind of thing that people take note on after the fact, heh?”**

 **“They are stupid-heads,” one Bonita Sales, second year student, said comfortingly from her seat on his immediate left, and patted his back. “Do not feel bad,** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera. We all love you. Spice cake?”**

 **“** ** _Muito obrigado,_** **_Senhorita_ S** **ales.” Ramone kissed her forehead smackingly. “Here, we will share it, heh?”**

**Bonita beamed and chewed at him. All around the huge table were students from every year, crammed in together and surrounded by piles of their own books and notes. Ramone was the only one without anything but his food in front of him.**

**“My brain is full,” he had announced at noon that day. “There is no room left. What is there is there, and it shall have to be enough. Any more and my head will explode, and as that will make the** ** _cabrões_** **very happy and me very sad, that is all that there is to be said about** ** _that_** **.”**

 **“Where is _S_** ** _enhor_ ** **Malfoy?” one of the first year boys inquired. “It is not his shift in the chapel.”**

 **“He is at a tutorial with Padre.” Carmen stuffed herself in between two of her year-mates. “He turns seventeen on the fifth of this next month,** **_Senhor_ ** **Sanchez, and if he has not achieved the Change before he goes back, his efforts will go on official note so that he may be medically supervised during the last stages in his own country.”**

**“That is stupid too. It is none of his country’s business. And they have never had that rule before; why are they making it now?”**

**“Because his** **_papi_ ** **is a very rich and influential man with important political connections, and** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy is his only child. If he is lost because of something that he learned here - something that he is not supposed to be learning here, and his government learns that we sent him back without warning that monitoring him was necessary besides -  it would cause a great deal of trouble. His** **_papi_ ** **might even wish to come and demand answers in person. We do not need men such as him on our doorstep demanding answers and finding information that they were not seeking.”**

 **“He sounds like a stupid-head too.” Federico Gonzales, Juan Sanchez’s boon companion, sniffed in disdain. “It is one thing our countries have in common anyway: the stupid-heads. They should have a rule about** ** _that,_** **I** **think. The stupid-heads from all the countries should be gathered together and put on an island with all the lethifolds. There are enough of** **them, I am sure, to feed them for at least the next thousand years, and none of them would ever bother any of us again.** ** _Quindim,_** **_Senhor_** **Carriera?”**

 **“Mm.** **_Obrigado, Senhor_ ** **Gonzales. You are so kind.”**

**“Your belly will explode right along with your brain, Carriera-from-Brazil,” Lucius said as he approached. “If you keep eating like that. It will be a contest to see which one ruptures first.”**

**“D** i **d you manage it,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy?” Bonita asked anxiously.**

**“Not quite yet, Miss Sales. Perhaps if one of you were to tell me what I am, it would help things along a little?”**

**“We cannot,” she said regretfully. “Padre told us that if any of us do, we will make Baby Jesus cry. We cannot be responsible for that** ** _, Senhor_ ** **Malfoy. You understand, don’t you? Crying babies are not pleasant, and might drown out the sound of our prayers besides.”**

 **“It is quite alright.”** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy patted her head. “I think I know now anyway.”**

 **“You** **_do_** **?” All of the children perked.**

**“Yes.” He flicked his wand. The gleaming silvery stallion appeared. “I am destined to be one of the nine in ten after all, and my long hair is obviously my mane. My angel will be delighted when I surprise her with it. She has always wanted a pony.”**

**Giggles ran around the table, complemented by a soft snore... Lucius shh’d them all as he leaned over.**

**“Carriera,” he said. “I understand that you are very tired, but you have a perfectly good bed. You really do not need to sleep cuddled up with your dessert.’**

**Ramone snored again. Lucius shook his shoulder lightly. “Change, at least,” he said. “I will carry you upstairs.’**

**He didn’t move. Bonita leaned over and spoke directly in his ear.**

**“** ** _Bueno, Senhor_ ** **Carriera,” she said loudly. “It is time for your examination in Self-Transfiguration. Will you demonstrate your form for us, please?”**

**Ramone, still fully asleep, blurred. Lucius picked him up, spelled him free of pudding, and tucked him in his robe pocket. As if it were a signal, every young face turned strained and anxious to the point of tears.**

**“It will be fine,” he reassured them all gently. “I am not worried at all.”**

**“You are a liar,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy.” Federico Gonzales slumped down in his chair. “Either that, or a stupid-head.”**

**“I prefer ‘optimist’. As a very wise man once said, worrying only means that you suffer twice.”**

**“Your wise man obviously did not grow up in Brazil. If you do not worry here, you will not suffer at all, because you will be lost.”**

**“You will not be lost,” Lucius said firmly. “And if you are, I will not forget you. I will remember you always. All of you.”**

**“We will remember you too,” Bonita reassured him. “All of us. Also, I cannot tell you what you are, but you are not a horse.”**

**“Of course I am not a horse.” His affected, bored and arrogant drawl, after all the weeks, did no more than make any of them giggle. “I live to make my angel happy, and that would mean that I am a pretty, pretty pony.”**

**They all promptly broke into helpless snorts, then gales, of laughter. He winked at them as he made his way out. Once he was upstairs, the dorm room door firmly shut and locked, Ramone leaped out of his pocket, blurred, and pounced.**

**“A pretty, pretty pony, heh?” He bore him back to the bed. “Shall I take you for a ride then, Malfoy-from-England?’**

**“Were you awake the entire time, Carriera-from-Brazil?’**

**“No. I leaped out of your pocket downstairs as you left the dining hall, went upstairs, slept for six hours, and returned to your pocket just as you opened our door. I am very good, heh?”**

**“You are,” Lucius agreed, and rolled on his side, and took him in his arms and held him close. For just a moment, Ramone stiffened… Then he buried his face in his shoulder, clinging desperately, and wept noisily: deep wrenching wails of pure fear. “Shh. Shh, Carriera. I am here.”**

**“And** **_they_ ** **will be here, next** **_week!_** **To take me away! I do not** **_want_ ** **to be altered, Malfoy-from-England! I do not** **_want_ ** **to be lost!”**

**“I know,” his lover said. “I know.” He ran a hand through the dark, sweaty tangle of hair. “Shh. Here, sit up a bit. I have something for you.”**

**“Uh?”**

**He popped his left wand and held it out. Ramone offered him a bit of an odd look, but took it and examined it.**

**“Do you know,” he said. “You have never told me the specifics?”**

**“It is Spanish oak and forelimb of Brazilian wandering spider,” Lucius said. “It was your father’s wand.”**

**Ramone’s eyes grew huge. “My…”**

**“Yes. Keep it with you this week. That way he will be with you, and the spider will hold off hell. It is what they do, I understand.”**

**“You were chosen by my father’s wand?” He looked at a loss. “All these months… Why have you not told me till now?”**

**“It has known from the first that it is meant to be hidden when it is with me. So as strange as it sounds, I never thought to tell you. It makes no sense, I know, but I did think on it just now, and perhaps that means that it wished you to know, and again, to stay with you this week.”**

**Ramone said nothing, his head lowered. Lucius rubbed his shoulder as a hot tear splashed down, and another.**

**“I had not thought…” He struggled, wiping his cheeks as he attempted to recover himself. “There is a legend on wands such as this, did you know?”**

**“Of course there is. Tell me. My head is not quite as full as yours; there is still room.”**

**“They are rare,” he said. “There are said to be only a handful in existence. It is said that when St. Michael struck the blow that drove Lucifer from Heaven, he struck so hard that the bright shadow of his sword, reflecting as it did the power of God that powers his Champion’s weapon, was shattered and fell to the earth, where each shard became a Brazilian wandering spider. Because the shadow had touched evil, the shards looked horrific, demonic even, but that was only aesthetic, heh, and their essence was yet of the Holy. They fell to the floor of the jungle, the roof of hell, and now prowl as hidden warriors of the Light, though as defenders in battle, they only strike in offensive situations.  And when they are transmuted to wands, it is said they choose only those who are facing a battle that cannot be fought with magic. Those who are facing a battle that requires, not the power of magic, but the power of the Divine.” He held it out. Lucius closed his fingers firmly about it.**

**“Not this week,” he said. “This week… It stays with you.”**

**“I cannot use it, Luz. No wand but the bloodthorn works for me.”**

**“You do not need to use it, Carriera. You are an expert in wandless magic, remember? And that is not the point anyway. You just said yourself; magic will not help the one who carries it, only God. I think that as you carry both, from what I have learned of both now... You will carry a sword and a shield, both sourced from, and powered by, Heaven. What more of a message could you desire, that He is with you?”**

**“Do you believe in Him, then?” Ramone teased, around his tears. “After all?”**

**Lucius Malfoy only hesitated a moment before his lips firmed decisively.**

**“This week,” he said. “This week… Yes. Yes, I do. I** **_choose_ ** **to believe in Him. As the book says, I will live as a Narnian even if there is no Narnia.”**

**Ramone smiled at that, and Summoned the book in question from the night stand.**

**“Here,” he said. “A gift in return. This way, you will not have to risk going to a Nomaji bookshop to obtain your copy.”**

**Lucius said nothing, just took it and leaned in and kissed him. Ramone said nothing in return, just wound his arms around his neck, wand still in his hand, and kissed him back.**

 

* * *

 

"Two settings," Neil had told Sirius, demonstrating. "Stream and spray. The first is for those coming in for the face-to-face, but for practical reasons, it's best to get 'em from the prudent distance. Not for the reasons you're thinking either, but because the backlash can be a little overwhelming.”

"Backlash," Sirius repeated.

"Mm. It's not an experience you want to give over, but again. Distracting."

"And that's all we're getting?" Remus examined the transfigured pocket-pistol handed him from the huge pile. Each came with an American candy: a Hershey's Chocolate Kiss. "And I have to ask. Why the tank's worth stowed in your potions cupboard?"

"It's a South American thing." Neil passed off a gift pack to the next in line. "Just Because You Can't See Something Doesn't Mean It's Not There. Alternate responses: Better Safe Than Sorry, Be Prepared, One Never Knows, and if it's just a big black robe hanging from the garden line after all, the freshening effect will make you smell like a great big sun-dried peppermint candy. It's win-win all around."

Truer words were never spoken, Sirius 'Padfoot' Black reflected as he barreled and wove deftly through the mob on the west-wing fourth floor of the complex, Notice-Me-Not and scent-repressant firmly in effect... The tendency that he'd noted in Edinburgh - that werewolves walked on their toes in the days before the full moon - really did comprise a major vulnerability when the enemy was in the know. He ripped and stripped yet another strained and presented achilles tendon as behind him, Remus hexed yet another feral off his feet and stabbed him through the throat with the Sword of Gryffindor. No real grace or elegance, but then, one couldn’t reasonably expect perfect proficiency with a weapon one had never used before, especially using one's off-hand... Still, he had his rhythm down: one hotfoot hex and a knockback jinx apiece with the holly wand followed by a straight downward shove-of-the-swordpoint right through the most convenient vital point. His argyle socks and handmade Italian leather shoes were a bit sticky, but he'd rolled his trouser cuffs up the extra prudent three inches before apparating in, so the Armani was still going strong.

One floor up, and a sleek russet-and-frost streak tilted around the corner as a liquid, near-nauseating boneless blur. The scene that met its eyes left no room for hesitation. A young woman with ripped clothing and hair the colour of a rising bruise was fighting wildly as half a dozen men pinned her down. Her wand lay several feet away. She was incoherent with fury and terror, all ability to concentrate gone.

The streak had no such issues. It launched itself neatly. The pile collapsed abruptly. The streak transformed, helping the young woman up. Nymphadora Tonks stared at the man now standing over the heap of her would-be-rapists.

“What the hell?” she said weakly.  Arthur Weasley just cast a focused Scourgify on his mouth, followed it up with a breath freshening charm, kissed her cheek and handed her her wand, tapping it first with his… A thin leather strap appeared on the end. He slipped it over her wrist.

“So you don’t drop it,” he said. “Alright, then?”

“I guess? What did you _do_ to them?”

“Snapped their necks. Or rather, bit through their spinal cords at the base of the neck. I took out a red fox back the Burrow once that way. Two full stone if it was an ounce. I had to do it; it kept getting at our chickens, but still.  Don’t tell Niamh, she’ll never talk to me again.” He prodded one with a toe. “They’re still alive. Just paralyzed. Go on; I’ll finish up here.”

“You… Exactly _how_ long have you been an Animagus again?”

‘Later.” Arthur patted her again. “No need to arrest me, Auror Tonks. Your bosses know perfectly well what I am. My wife and kids don’t, though, so I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself.”

“ _Molly_ doesn’t know? Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret, and I love her to bits, but the woman can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Nymphadora Tonks opened her mouth, then closed it again, disconcerted.

“Arthur,” she said. “What was it, exactly, that you did during the war?”

“I designed and set up Muggle traps and ambushes at selected and pre-arranged battle sites. After I Changed... I _was_ the trap.”

“Why would you set Muggle traps? You’re not a Muggle.”

“Sure I am.” He winked at her. “I’ve got my own office at the Ministry and everything. Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?” he elaborated. “I’m Art-in-fact, my Animagus’ name is Muggle, and your people call me in whenever there’s a need for gently illegal misuse of departmental rules.”

“Bugger me,” she said inelegantly. “You’re a _hit wizard?_ ”

“No, no. Well, not really. All of Great Britain’s related to the Weasleys one way or the other, though, and as I’m Weasley’s Head, I’ve got a bit of an overdeveloped sense of the paternal. Run along now; I’d like a few private words with these gentlemen on the proper way to treat a lady. Oh, and Dora?”

“Yeah?”

“Morph yourself into a man for the rest of the fight,” her best friend’s father advised. “I’m well aware that as you’re a shifter you’re a bit tone-deaf to certain finer realities of the strictly single-gendered life, but I almost took the left-hand turn back there.”

Tonks morphed promptly. Arthur nodded in satisfaction, and turned back as she disappeared down the hall, toeing apart the paralyzed bodies again.

“Tactical error,” he informed them all pleasantly. “That was my son Charlie’s first girlfriend. I’ve known her since she was eleven years old, and he might have turned out as bent as they come, but she’s still as good as a daughter to me. Now, I don’t know if any of you are fathers yourselves, but in case you’re not, let me educate you on a certain little truth: good fathers don’t appreciate it when bad men mess with their children.” He slashed his wand down. A silvery streak flashed out, darting back the way it had come, swerving right. “I can’t stay, but I’m going to put up this wall here, and a friend of mind is going to stop by to teach you a little lesson. If he has time. If not, the wall will keep you safe. Till it doesn’t.” He began to work methodically. Down on the fourth floor, the shining least weasel appeared. Severus Snape offered the closest looming Dementor a quick shot of peppermint to the gob while the rest of the looming contingent scattered. The clean-up crew behind him dispatched of them swiftly. He lowered his water pistol and listened, then slashed quickly, murmuring. His luna moth fluttered off obligingly. Less than two minutes later…

BIT BUSY HERE, WEASLEY, the moth intoned. MIGHT I SUGGEST A HORDE OF FIRE ANTS IN THE ENCLOSED ENVIRONMENT?  YOU REMEMBER THE BASE INCANTATION FROM INANIMATE-TO-ANIMATE TRANSFIGURATION, I AM SURE; JUST CRUMBLE A FEW OF THE BISCUITS THAT YOU HELPED ESCAPE ABERFORTH DUMBLEDORE AND VISUALIZE ALREADY. HERE IS A TIP FOR YOU; THEY ARE EXACTLY THE SHADE OF YOUR WIFE’S HAIR.

“Lovely,” Arthur said at that last, pleased. “It’ll be just as if she were here.” He dug into his pocket, removing a wrapped napkin, and crumbled and scattered artistically before stepping out the door in the now enclosed dead-end of the passage. He pointed his wand, uttered the incantation, and visualized very clearly indeed. The door immediately converted to smooth, seamless stone.

“Bugger,” he said aloud, stopping in his tracks before he’d taken three steps. “They’re _paralyzed_. They won’t feel any of it, at least not from the neck down.” He sank his wand through the stone and uttered a word. “There. That should take care of that. They won’t feel it, but their imaginations won’t care.”

He blurred, and slipped off in that nauseating, boneless manner.

 

* * *

 

**_Castelobruxo  
_ **

**_June 28th, 1971_ **

**The letter with Ramone’s results came by special courier, delivered to the Headmistress’ office two days after exams were finished, on the day before the students were due to return home for the summer.  Every head in the hall turned as Inez Hernandez approached his table at dinner, Antonio Silva at her side. Ramone stared at the pale parchment envelope in his uncle’s hand with the precise expression of a mouse caught in a trap. His uncle Summoned a chair and sat down next to him. He said nothing. There was, Lucius thought, really nothing to be said.**

**In the silence, Ramone began to cry: dryly, thinly, wrenchingly. Silva looked at Hernandez helplessly. The students, as they had at the meeting the fall before, looked petrified.**

**Lucius looked at the envelope on the table before him. The edges were trimmed in gold gilt, but for just a moment the colour seemed to shift to black... He rose and pushed back his chair deliberately, kneeling beside his lover and holding out his arms.  Ramone fell into them, weeping wretchedly. Lucius rubbed his back. No one moved.**

**“Shh,” he said. “Shh, my friend. You have this. You** **_have_ ** **this.”**

 **“I do** ** _not_** **have this! I do not have anything! I have failed,” Ramone wept. “I know it. I** ** _know_** **it. I have failed everything, I do not remember even half of what I wrote! I do not even remember writing half the** ** _examinations!_** **It has all been for nothing, it will all have been for nothing, and they are going to come and take me and** **make** ** _me_** **nothing, and I am so afraid, Luz. I am so** ** _afraid!_** **”**

**“Of course you are afraid.” Lucius’s voice was quintessentially deep and soothing. “You would be a quite remarkable stupid-head if you were not.”**

**Around the table, rising panicked expressions froze abruptly in their tracks. Everyone stared at him, mouths ajar.  Bonita Sales was startled into an outright snort and giggle. It was cut off immediately, but… “That does not mean you have failed, though, and as for remembering your examinations, I have yet to take one myself that I have enjoyed so much that I would request that Jesus hold the memory for me.”**

**_That_ ** **earned him not only the one giggle, but outright laughter, especially from one or two of the more emotionally aware older students. The tension didn’t drop exactly, but...  “Here.” Lucius dug in his pocket. “Blow.” Ramone took the handkerchief and blew automatically, startled out of his own misery just enough to roll his eyes slightly at his lover at that, behind the fine linen. “Good. No, excellent. Deep breaths now. That’s it.** **_Muito bueno_ ** **!”**

 **“** ** _Obrigado_** **. I am afraid that I cannot say the same for you. Your accent is yet abominable, an offense to the soul, never mind the ears, and I am pained enough already. Speak English, heh?” He spelled the handkerchief clean and handed it back. “What if I** **_have_ ** **failed everything, Malfoy-from-England?”**

**“Do not be ridiculous, Carriera-from-Brazil. Lopez and I have not spent the last two months putting up with each other as we organized and dictated your every waking and sleeping moment just so that you could fail. Have a little faith in us, at least, mm, if not yourself?”**

**“Mm,” Lopez agreed, five seats down. “And now, if you are quite finished with the theatrics - and if you are able to manage them at such a moment as this, all cannot possibly be lost - you may open the damn envelope. You are not the only one with cards in this game.”**

**“I am quite overwhelmed by your sympathy,** **_Senhorita_ ** **Lopez.” Ramone placed his face in his hands. “I cannot. You do it."**

 **“Men. You are all such babies, every one of you. Very well. Pass it to me then,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy.”**

**Lucius took the envelope and held it out. Carmen accepted it, standing and coming around the table as she snapped the seal. Before she unfolded the paper inside, though, she bent and kissed Ramone's dark head. His left hand shot up and grabbed hers. She squeezed and held it firmly, shaking out the paper one-handed, and cleared her throat as she held it up.**

**“** ** _Monsieur_ ** **Ramone Henrique Carriera: enclosed find your results as per assessment by the delegated and appointed committee of the International School of Warding, Paris, France…** **_Ei!”_ ** **she said indignantly as Lucius snatched it from her, holding it up over her head. “What do you think you are doing?”**

**"You are taking too long. I shall read one," he said to her. "You may read the next. Though…” He passed it off again with a decidedly over-lordly air. “You may begin, because you are a lady."**

**"** ** _Muito obrigada_** **. You are so kind." The left corner of her mouth tilted up at him ever so slightly though, as she cleared her throat and cast a** **_Sonorus._ ** **"So that you will not interrupt me,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy, and for reference: Pass is an A. Pass with Distinction is your EE. Honors is an O. Highest Honours means that you have achieved a minimum of 95 percent on the exam."**

 **“I am English, Miss Lopez, not an idiot. Believe it or not, they** **_are_ ** **mutually exclusive concepts.”**

 **"With God, all things are possible. Sit up,** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera. The last I heard, frogs were yet vertebrates. Alchemy," she read. "Pass with Distinction."**

**Ramone, surprisingly, did not look perturbed at that. Carmen flipped a dismissive hand at Lucius' inquiring look.**

**"There is a reason that it is not on the prerequisites list. No one ever gets Honours in Alchemy; they are saving it for the person who manages to turn lead into gold. As for Highest Honours - only God has ever earned that, for turning dust into man.”**

**“You do not say. Arithmancy - Pass, with Highest Honours!"**

**Arithmancy was the first of the subjects required by the ISW. A few tentative whoops sounded. Ramone lifted his head.**

**"Astronomy. Pass with Highest Honours,” Carmen read. Ramone sat up a little further.**

**"Charms. Pass, with Highest Honours!" This time, the whoops were much less restrained.**

**"Combat Dueling. Pass with Distinction."**

**"I was tired," Ramone excused himself as Silva tched at him mock-severely. He was sitting up fully now. "And I was nervous, and so had too many cheese buns for breakfast. They calmed my nerves, but they weighed me down too.'**

**"Creature-Specific Linguistics: Focus Parseltongue. Pass with Honours. Special note from the examiner: “** **_Bon travail_ ** **,** **_Monsieur_ ** **Carriera. Your intonation is quite remarkable for a frog."**

**Sniggers ran all around at that.  Inez blurred swiftly and back, hissing with mirth.**

**"Cross-Cultural Economics, Pass with Distinction."**

**"It is because I have never had money," Ramone explained. "You cannot study that material unavailable to you."**

**"Mm. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Pass with Highest Honours!"**

**"Divination... Pass." A mighty cheer rose, the biggest yet, as fists pounded the table and feet stamped all around. Lucius glanced about, confused.**

**"We are Catholics," Carmen explained to him. "The subject, Padre teaches us, is of the devil, so a Pass for us is actually the perfect grade." She patted Ramone's shoulder. “** ** _Muito bueno,_** **_Senhor_** **Carriera. Jesus is very proud. Also…” She swatted his head. “** ** _That_** **is for registering in the course in the first place. And it is not even offered here, so we know you had to go out of your way to enroll!”**

**“I only took it for the amusement value,” Ramone defended himself. “And the exercise. My eye-rolling was not nearly up to my Mama’s standards. If they had a course for that, she would be a Grandmaster by now, just by virtue of having raised my brother Pablo.”**

**"Do this in lots, or we'll never get through," Lucius said. "Herbology, History of Magic, Magizoology and Medicinal Herbology, all passed with Highest Honours! Mind Arts..." He paused, and held the parchment up. "Is it me, Miss** **Lopez, or does the handwriting there look a bit annoyed and spiteful on the part of the Brazilian confirmands?"**

**Carmen leaned closer. "It does," she said, and smirked around the hall in fat satisfaction. "Passed with Highest Honours, special note of Distinction in Occlumency!"**

**The students screamed in wild appreciation. Silva, despite his nerves, threw back his head and roared with laughter. Hernandez chortled madly and helplessly on his shoulder. Ramone just smirked.**

**"Nomaj Appreciation... Ah well. What more is there to say about** **_that,_ ** **with your uncle as a teacher? Pass with Highest Honours, etcetera etcetera..."**

**"Potions, Pass with Highest Honours..."**

**"I am most impressed," Hernandez congratulated him at that. "Every one of your uncles and aunts and other relatives were lucky just to get a pass. Most did not. Your** **_papi_ ** **won the award for the strangest results ever produced in South America."**

**"Self-Transfiguration, Base Pass…”**

**Ramone turned to a frog, hopped up on the table and bowed around.**

**"Spell-Cast Healing and Transfiguration, Pass with Highest Honours. Likewise Wandless Magic, with the special note: we all hate you, life is not fair, it should not count as you were born with the ability, etcetera etcetera..."**

**The younger children were bouncing now in anxious, electric anticipation. The older ones were not far behind… More than a few of them had their eyes closed, whispering inaudible, fervent prayers.**

**"And the final three," Lucius said. His voice rang clearly. "Runes, Warding and Spell-Crafting…” He perused the final words. “Sir, I think perhaps you should read those."**

**He handed the paper over. Silva’s eyes widened.**

**"Spell-Crafting, Pass with Highest Honours. Runes, Pass with Highest Honours. Warding... Pass with Highest Honours.  Special note of recognition from the Governing Body of the  ISW along with an accompanying offer of a full four-year all-expenses paid scholarship, and a recommendation to the ICW for formal acknowledgement of your contribution to the field of** **_International Level_ ** **Runic Warding and the practical well-being of your** **_countrymen_** **?’** **_Nossa Senhora_** **, Ramonzinho! What did you come** **_up_ ** **with?”**

**"Ah. That would be a new type of ward. I submitted it as my project in Runes and Spell-Crafting, heh, and demonstrated it as my practical in Warding again."**

**"Explain," his uncle ordered him, lowering the parchment. “Now.”**

**"It is a wand-triggered runic sequence," his nephew obliged. "Sewn into your clothes. When you direct a** **_lumos_ ** **at it, you glow. It is good for the very young, and those who cannot Change. If you are traveling, one can sleep while the other stays awake and..." He gestured vaguely. "Radiates. Not so complicated, nor even an original idea, but the true innovation comes with the fact that the light cannot be detected by non-Magicals, only by things with magic, so you can walk through the cities, heh, and the leths, they will see the light, but the Nomaji will not. You may also inscribe the pattern on objects such as window frames and doorways, and  because I have made the sequence circular, the magic that powers it..." He made a circle with a finger. "The wand, it provides the initial burst of igniting magic, and after that, the sequence itself attracts externalized magic that is caught in the continuing loop and cycles about again and again and again. As long as there is external magic in the vicinity to act as fuel it will continue to do so, and the Lower Americas and their associated islands are so crossed with ley paths that it is very hard to find a place without it, heh? The runes, of course, must eventually be replaced as the inks fade, but if you carry a small bottle with you, and you know the sequence, you may write it fresh at any point.”**

**His uncle gawked at him, flabbergasted. Everyone gawked at him.**

**“A** **_circular_ ** **sequence?” one of the Runes professors repeated. “** ** _Senhor_ ** **Carriera, such a thing is impossible! A runic sequence - any kind of sequence, by very** **_definition -_ ** **must have a beginning and an end! A circle has no beginning or end!”**

 **“Mm. This is very true, but the runes are only half of the equation that makes a sequence viable. The rest lies in the inks used to** **_inscribe_ ** **the runes. I thought on this approach to the problem, and experimented a little, heh, with a certain ingredient added to the universal ink base?  Occamies are creatures that form and reform to fill any given space,** **_sim,_ ** **as directed by circumstance, without injury to themselves at all, so when even a very little of their blood, when properly incorporated during the brewing process, allows the shape of the sequence to modify itself into a conditionally defined prospective pattern in the moment that the sequence is triggered.” He caught the bewildered, confounded looks. “It is not so hard to understand,” he said encouragingly. “Especially for those of us raised as we all are, heh?  Essentially… Essentially, what you are not so much creating a new kind of sequence as you are teaching the original template to Change. The inks act as the potions we take when we are studying Animagery, that encourage the core, or the linear sequence in this instance, to change shape without compromising or alternating its essential integrity, or self-destructing. It is as it is in the poem, heh, that we studied in our class,** **_Tio_** **, in December:  T.S.. Eliot’s ‘Little Gidding’, from his Four Quartets?** **‘What we call the beginning is often the end...’”**

**His uncle, stunned as he was, smiled softly at him at that.**

 

 **_And to make and end is to make a beginning_ ** **, he quoted back.**

**_The end is where we start from. And every phrase_ **

**_And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,_ **

**_Taking its place to support the others,_ **

**_The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,_ **

**_An easy commerce of the old and the new,_ **

**_The common word exact without vulgarity,_ **

**_The formal word precise but not pedantic,_ **

**_The complete consort dancing together)_ **

**_Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,_ **

**_Every poem an epitaph._ **

 

 **“You attempted to seduce this sequence of yours into changing  its very nature by reciting** ** _poetry_** **at it?” Inez Hernandez repeated in the silence that followed** ** _that._** **“And succeeded, yet?** ** _Nossa_** **_Senhora_** **. This confirms it, Padre, never mind the resemblance to Manuelzinho.** ** _Senhor_** **Carriera, you are, beyond all doubt, a Silva man.”**

**Antonio Silva threw back his head and simply howled at that. He was not alone. The students in the hall looked more than a bit confused as every teacher present wept with laughter. Ramone just grinned.**

**“In a way,** **I suppose I did,” he said, once they had all recovered. “In practical terms,** **one places a runic statement at the beginning and the end of the linear sequence that reiterates this truth, and when encouraged again by the one physical ingredient that reinforces that understanding in every inked sigil, the sequence is convinced, and self-transfigures from the straight line to the circle in the critical moment - that is, when the** ** _lumos_** **ignites the flame.”**

**“And the resulting light?” Lucius asked. “How is it that the Nomaji cannot see it?’**

**“It is because it is not quite light," Ramone explained. "It is radiated magic that translates to the Magical eye-or-equivalent** **_as_ ** **light, because that is the closest visual equivalent that that eye can relate to." He caught the puzzled looks again. "You will remember, on the first day we met, my Luz, that conversation we had on the nature of lethifolds? I asked you what you learned of lethifolds at your school, and you offered me a very good summary, but with a few fallacies, the main one of which was that they are black. And I explained that they are not black, it is simply how the eye translates them, because black is not part of their biology, but it is what we know, so it is what we see? I began my work after that day we first talked with this premise in mind, as a project independent of my schoolwork, and was stalled for a little, but then, we had that discussion on morality after the Easter holiday in which you posited that you cannot simply carry light with you when you venture out among the shadows, you must be the light if you wish not to be a potential shadow. And it all translated in my mind."**

 **"** ** _He_ ** **inspired this?" Carmen sounded more than a bit affronted.**

 **_"Sim._ ** **And since he inspired it, I have named it for him. It will be known, officially, as the Luz Sequence."**

**Carmen grunted, but it did not, Lucius thought, sound quite as sour as it could have... Antonio Silva rose to his feet, eyes wet, and pulled his nephew to his own feet.**

**"You are a miracle, my Ramonzinho," he said as he embraced him. "My miracle. This will save many, many lives. I am so, so proud.” Ramone grabbed Lucius and hauled him in, till the three were hugging together.**

**“I could not have done it without you, my Luz." Ramone dried his eyes with his sleeve when the hordes, sore-throated from screaming, had subsided yet again. "Your support, your strategies for studying, your ability to cross-reference all the subject matter so I could see the connections that allowed me to memorize one thing that had the logical association with the next, so all I had to do was follow the paths… As for you,** **_Senhorita_ ** **Lopez… All of you...” He looked around at the crowds of glowing faces. “I will not forget any of you, I promise. Not one of you. I will pray for all of you every day of my life; I swear it before Jesus.”**

 **"We** **_are_ ** **very good," Lucius said modestly. "And we too are very proud of you. So proud in fact, that we were proud in advance, and ordered you a reward for your success."**

**"Uh?”**

**"You will be issued your Warding broom once you arrive in Paris," he explained. "It is paid for through the fees.  But they will not demand you pass the entire four years in two months, so you will likely have a bit of free time now and again. And with your free time, you will need an appropriate ride."**

**Ramone's eyes widened. Lucius pointed his wand at to the door.** ** _"Accio_** **Carriera's graduation gift!" he called. A swift flash of gold soared through the door, and stopped with perfect pinpoint precision** **by Ramone’s side.**   **The young Brazilian stared, thunderstruck. The vision before him was formed of at least a dozen types of wood, the shaft and footrests bound in delicate strands of goblin made steel... Every inch was handcrafted and custom-carved, every gleaming golden twig shaped and smoothed and polished to a glow, and on the end of the shaft again was a tiny embedded sapphire and gold frog.** **It was nothing less than a work of art.**

 **_"Nao,"_ ** **he managed finally.** **_"Nao,_ ** **you did not! Luz..."**

 **"That," Silva observed, "** ** _Senhor_ ** **Malfoy, is a bit much.”**

 **"Is is a Golden Howler,** **_Tio,_ ** **do you see? It is the best racing broom in the _world!_ There are only seven of them in existence!”**

 **“And now there appear to be eight. What happened to the Nimbus 1000 we all agreed upon,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy?”**

**“They were out at the shop when I called, I am afraid. I was forced to go with what they had.”**

**“Luz, I cannot accept this! It is much, much too much!”**

**"It is not too much at all. Just enough, I would say. And you can, and you will," Lucius said firmly. "You have earned it, Ramone, and it is not just from me anyway, as I said. It is from everyone here.”**

**“Uh?”**

**‘We had every faith in you,** **_Senhor_ ** **Carriera.” Hernandez smiled at him. “What is it that our beautiful Jesus says: blessed are those who have not seen, but yet believe? Two and a half thousand students: some donated a little, some donated a little more… Twenty three NEWTs is no small accomplishment. Something to be remembered, even. It, like the one who achieved it, would be very hard - very,** **_very_ ** **hard: impossible, even - to forget.”**

**Carriera blinked rapidly down at the table as the hall positively exploded in affirmation at that. "I will kiss you for it, Carriera," Carmen offered. "For a ride on it, anyway."**

**"You have wings,** **_Senhorita_ ** **Lopez."**

**"You truly are hopeless, Carriera," Lucius drawled. "Speaking as someone who has taken the practical, not just the theoretical... When a bird requests a ride on your broom, you do not turn her down on the basis that she can get there herself."**

**Both Carmen and Ramone turned fiery red, glaring at him amid the screams and howls of mirth. "That was very rude,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy," Silva said reprovingly, though his lips twitched. "Jesus is appalled. Truly. My office. Seven o’clock, tonight…”**

 

* * *

 

The element of surprise, Ted Tonks mused as he buzzed madly here, there and everywhere, was truly a wonderful thing. As per the paraphrased movie again, nobody, _nobody_ , ever expected the house-elves.

More accurately, nobody ever really thought on them. As naturally discreet and quiet as the vast majority of them were, they were not in the habit of giving anyone cause to pay them active attention. No one ever questioned their comings or goings,  not as long as they went and came back with whatever their masters desired promptly and with all efficiency, anyway.  And most crucially of all, no one ever thought to ask how it they did come and go - that is, completely freely and easily and without hindrance or concern for very nearly any kind of ward whatsoever.

“Five wings, four cell blocks in each wing, five holding cells in each block, five kids per cell.” Weasley-Cartwright had rotated the lower floor model in the conference chambers as the watching army leaned forward intently. “All guarded by Dementors rather than ferals - they’re running the corridors rather than positioning themselves as guards -  so there’ll be no actual physical fighting involved for those involved in the straightforward retrieval, just the psychic attacks.”

“Just the psychic attacks?” one of the Welsh Aurors repeated. “ _Just_ the psychic attacks?”

“We’ve got it covered,” Ren reassured him. “Little known fact, just as lethifolds prefer the taste of human flesh, Dementors prefer the taste of human emotions. That means that while all humanoid species are yet affected, certain of those species are less affected than others. VINNY!”

“We is ready, Master Ren,” Vinny reported, popping back in. “All of us.”

“And you’ve made it perfectly clear to all of them that this is not an order? That they have the option of refusing?”

“Of course. They is all being in.”

“Awesome. Bring in the team leaders, then.”

And twenty house-elves, all dressed in armour (not clothes) had cracked in smartly.

“We is ready, Master-Adept,” the first croaked. “We is all having everything on the list you is giving us. Now, we is just needing the coordinates.”

 _“Kreacher?_ ” Sirius said incredulously. “What are _you_ doing here?” The old house elf turned and looked him over disdainfully.

“And isn’t _that_ being the stupidest question of the night,” he said. “Kreacher is thinking that Former-Master Sirius should be checking under his shag rug in Gryffindor Tower for his brains, since they is obviously missing after the last time his fiance displaced them.”

“That’s _hearth_ rug,” Remus murmured as everyone around him choked. “Aren’t you two supposed to be trying to get along now?”

“Honesty is important in any good relationship, Kreacher is told. Kreacher is, therefore, calling it like Kreacher sees it. Or hears about it, anyway.”

‘We don’t want to risk any of you outside the cell blocks." Ren hastily re-diverted the conversation. “So again, you’re strictly on internal retrieval. Here’s how we’re going to manage that: once I’ve set the external wards around the fortress and surrounding area to prevent any Nomaji noticing what’s going on, I’ll head right down to the fourth floor, place the homing beacons in each of the cell blocks, and you can all pop right in via your elf magic and start porting the kids out. I’ll get my own wards up there as quickly as I can after I’ve placed all of the beacons so that the ferals and Dementors can’t retaliate, but there are five wings and more than likely a connected alarm system throughout. As our first priority _is_ getting them out though, and as quickly as possible, I’ll want to set all the markers before I do get started on that warding. I’ll also have to ward each cell block as a distinct unit, so it  will take a certain amount of physical time. That means that if the block you’re assigned to is attacked before I get to it, you’re risking as much as the rest of us.”

"We is understanding,” another elf said sturdily. “Do not be worrying about us, Master-Adept. We is knowing the risk, and we is willing to be taking it. And we is not without our own defenses besides.”

The Master-Adept had turned at that. The elf in question had turned his bulbous bottle-green eyes inquiringly upwards.

“Can Dobby be helping the Master-Adept with something in particular?” he asked.

“No. No, not right now, no,” the Master-Adept said. He had, his audience thought, a most peculiar expression on his face.. “I just…”

He collected himself, visibly.

‘Vinny’s told me all about you,” he said. “It says a great deal for you, I think, that you raised a son inclined to a such a diametrically opposed perspective on life relative to your own,  and who yet retains such obvious respect and love for his parent. I look forward to getting to know you, Dobby, and of course, his mother."

Dobby blushed right to the tips of his ears.

“Vinny is being a good boy,” he concurred. “A little over-creative with his interpretations of the fundamentals of very nearly everything, but he is having a good heart. As for the different perspective… He is being very young yet. It is only being natural that his self-identification and related self-acceptance is taking a little while.”

“Vinny is hoping that Dobby is understanding that Vinny is saying this with all due filial love and devotion,” Vinny said sweetly from his position. “And Dobby, being a free elf, is of course, free to interpret it as Dobby wishes… But again on the particular subject, Dobby may be stuffing the ceremonial charcoal cashmere sock Master Lucius gave him all these years ago in his bloody self-identifying ear. Vinny has never been, is not, and never _will_ be, as per the immortal words of She-For-Whom-Vinny-Was-Named, on _any_ -bloody-body’s _payroll_.”

“What’s this, then?” Charlie inquired, attention caught by that last.

“VInny was named by Master Lucius,’ the elf explained. “For the Nomaj poetess, Edna St. Vincent Millay. ‘Conscientious Objector.‘ ‘I shall die, but that is all I shall do for Death,’” he recited in his best neo-ringing tones. “I am not on his payroll!”

The wrangler grinned at him. Widely, and recited back.

 

_I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends,_

_nor of my enemies either._

_Though he promise me much,_

_I will not map him the route to any man's door._

_Am I a spy in the land of the living,_

_that I should deliver men to Death?_

_Brother, the password and the plans of our city_

_are safe with me; never through me_

_Shall you be overcome._

 

“Master Charlie knows it?”  Vinny said in delight.

“Master Charlie sure as bloody bollocking hell does, Vincent my man, and for the record? He’s right in there with you. Death can take his thirty pieces of silver and stuff them up his bloody bollocking Horntail.”

“His name is being _Vinny,_ not Vincent. It is being a match made in the kitchens of Heaven,” Dobby announced tragically to the room at large. “Dobby despairs. Truly.”

“Master Charlie may be calling Vinny Vincent if he bloody well pleases,” Vinny retorted defiantly. “There is being nothing in Vinny’s equivalent-in-standing-to-but-definitely-not-an-employee contract on the subject, and if Vinny truly minded, there most definitely would be. And as for the other… Dobby may just be setting the associated trauma aside to wallow in on Dobby’s assigned day off. We is all having those more immediate priorities to be going on with right now, mm, and the other is just self-indulgent.”

Ten minutes after John Dawlish had sacrificed himself before that final door, the homing beacons were in place. Ted wasn’t there to see the immediate aftermath, preoccupied as he was with committing image after image from the raging madness and mayhem all around him to memory so that he could retrieve them as photographed stills from a pensieve later (he rather thought he’d have to censor the ones of Neil Cartwright, or the man, however efficient he was, would be out of a job faster than Hogwarts’ Board of Governors could say ‘Headmaster, as much as we appreciate your efficiency on the children’s behalf, may we recommend you a healthy dose of Mind-Healing and a lovely summer home near our country’s finest secured asylum'), but after all was well in hand, he still managed to make it down to the fourth floor in good time to see Lucius Malfoy and Ren Weasley-Cartwright in joint hot pursuit of a very particular individual. Ted had no idea what kind of wand Malfoy was using in his right hand - it looked more like a black, crimson-tipped needle dagger, complete with cross-piece - but he got a nice close-up of it and intended to ask around. Weasley-Cartwright’s wands, on the other hand…

There wasn’t a member of the Order of the Phoenix, or an Auror in Great Britain, for that matter, who wouldn’t recognize those wands - not a matched set, but a complementary one: the left originally wielded by celebrated and fallen war hero Frank Longbottom, and the right by his wife, celebrated and fallen war hero Alice MacMillan Longbottom.  Frank Longbottom may have been a dick of the highest order, but he was, for all of that, an impeccable judge of character, and if his wand had chosen to ally itself with Weasley-Cartwright, there wasn’t a man or woman who’d survived the first war who would question his motives on any level. Too, Ted couldn’t help but recall two very pertinent facts.

Albus Dumbledore had always shown the greatest faith and confidence in his chief strategist. Frank had always been unfailingly polite to him in return. Everyone had always been polite to him; he was their Fearless Leader, after all, and it was only his due. That being the case, it had never occurred to any of said Fearless Leader’s loyal minions to take concrete note of what was in hindsight, _the_ most damning indictment of His-Lord-High-Bastion-of-Sweetness-and-Light’s qualifications that could ever have been presented as such during one of the single longest, bloodiest decades in European Wizarding history.

The _only_ people that Frank Longbottom had ever treated in the consistently mannerly fashion in his life were the ones a) that he’d suspected of indictable criminal activity, and b) on whom he’d yet gathered insufficient evidence to convict.

As for Allie… Allie’s wand’s endorsement was a Definitive Statement. If it had chosen Weasley-Cartwright while its previous companion was still alive, it was because it sensed in him the individual who had the best chance at bringing down the bastards-slash-bitches that had brought that companion down. And if together the two wands had selected a single new companion, and still functioned for that companion after he’d declared himself willing to consider allying with Malfoy under Solace..

 _That_ meant that Malfoy’s claims that he had been working with Frank all along had to be true.

Whatever qualms anyone - _anyone_ \- had about Lucius Malfoy’s affiliations before his election as interim Minister hours before were simply and logically and absolutely no longer sustainable.

This… _This,_ Ted Tonks knew as he spun backwards, faceted eyes glimmering as they struggled to absorb every detail from every possible angle, was the shot that the world would remember… Calum King, caught half-transformed between man and deadly black mamba, rearing back as Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, a blazing wand in each hand and braced, barefoot and bare-chested on a _Golden fucking Howler,_ blasted him not to, but straight _through,_ Kingdom Come and into the magical containment cage behind him. Juxtaposed was Master-Adept Lawrence Weasley-Cartwright, back-to-back with Malfoy on his own broom, a terrified, weeping three-year-old clad only in the remains of the Minister of Magic’s shirt tucked against one black, leather-clad hip. His light brown eyes burned as he pressed his lips to the little head, his right arm curled protectively - and then there was a great rush of sound, and not a green ray, but a rising green sea of light rolled forth from his own wands, both held in the one free hand as he blew the even dozen incoming ferals straight to whatever hell awaited them.

 

* * *

  
**_Castelobruxo_ **

**_Silva’s Office_ **

**_Later that evening_ **

**Lucius knocked and ducked in, grinning. Silva hurried over as he hung his satchel and stowed his broom, and took him in his arms and held him close, his eyes wet. Lucius wrapped him up, pressing his face to the dark hair. He had grown considerably over the year, not so much in height - he was only an inch taller than he had been in September - but had gained a good two stone of solid muscle in his legs and shoulders and chest from all the dueling and regular and exhausting tours in the jungle.**

**"I have a gift for you too, sir," he said, pulling back. Silva wiped his eyes.**

**_"Sim?"_ **

**"Yes." He reached into his robe pocket and held out a small packet. Silva took it and opened it.**

**"Tickets to the Amazonian Opera House in Manaus?" he said, delighted. "For** **_La Gioconda_** **? Box tickets? My heart, you should not have!"**

 **"I most certainly should have," his heart said firmly. "I can more than afford it, sir, as well as the lodging and all else during the weekend surrounding it for all of us. I have spent very little this year of the allowance offered me for my personal expenses and entertainment, and I wish you and** **_Professora_ ** **Hernandez and Ramone to be my guests. I do not know anything of the city, so you will have to make the arrangements, but it is my gift as I said, never mind our final opportunity for many years to spend as a family."**

 **"But there are only two tickets here,** ** _sim?_ ** **"**

**"There is a Humphrey Bogart feature playing at one of the cinemas there that Ramone suggested that he and I go see instead. I know nothing of the film, Casablanca, and he will not tell me, only that fedoras are mandatory."**

**"He is not a great admirer of classical opera," his phoenix conceded. "It is, admittedly, an acquired taste."**

**"We both quite enjoyed the unit on Gilbert and Sullivan," Lucius offered. "Never mind that he hummed 'For He Is An Englishman' at me for all of April."**

**“** ** _Tio?_ ** **" Ramone's bright face appeared around the door. "Did you tell him yet, Luz?"**

**"I did. And he has agreed. How is it that you are still awake? We had you scheduled for a solid twenty four hours of sleep after you received your results!"**

**"I will have all summer to sleep. We have but a few more days before..." His face spasmed with worry. Lucius sat beside him on the sofa as he sank down. He knew what his lover was thinking, though his own primary concern ran along rather more significant lines. Despite the extra four months that the time turner had allowed them, he was not only still waiting on the Animagus transformation, but for the single memory that would allow the wards of the internal Fidelius to set. With less than a week to go before he returned to England and Riddle, he was well past the point of edgy on the subject - even more so because he hadn’t told Silva. His phoenix, he thought, had more than enough to worry on without that added to the pile, and it was not as if he could help him along those lines. He would simply have to keep throwing individual memories into the box, he thought, and hope that one eventually took.**

**"It will come," he reassured him. "I am very close, Ramone. I can feel it in my bones; no, in my every cell. It is simply a bit wary - shy, your uncle says, and does not like being noticed - and will come out when it feels the appropriate moment. Perhaps if you stop staring at me and demanding I respond, it will be more inclined to make an appearance?"**

**"It is not just that."**

**"I know. But I am as ready as I ever will be," Lucius said. "Which is to say, not ready at all, I am sure. And no, it will not be enjoyable, but there must remain more to life than what awaits me if I am to survive it, and now you will be there to help with that, will you not?  Paris is not so far, and as long as we are careful, there is no reason why we cannot communicate and visit regularly. The fashions in the city are incomparable, and Narcissa does love her** **_pain au chocolat_ ** **and** **_haute couture_** **."**

**Ramone leaned against him at that. Lucius pulled him in and held him close and tightly.**

**“You are a marvel, Carriera-from-Brazil,” he said. “No, a wonder. There are truly, truly, none before you and none after you who could even begin to replace you.”**

**“Of course there are not.” Ramone struggled up, sniffling, and took the offered handkerchief, dropped it, and burst into tears again. This time, Lucius burst into tears right along with him... Silva blurred and hopped up beside them, nuzzling and crooning deeply as he extended a shimmering black wing and blanketed them both.  A deep minor melody rose, wrapping and soothing and ushering both of the boys to sweet, dark sleep.**

 

* * *

 

There were certain jobs, Andromeda Black Tonks reflected as she picked her fastidious way down three half-flights of corpse-strewn stairs, through several silent and deserted corpse-strewn rooms, and down a very particular series of passages, that simply required a woman’s touch. No one on the _ad hoc_ planning committee back at Malfoy Manor had said a word when she’d made the statement, nor when she’d announced that she would be hand-picking a strike team to clear the particular section of MacNair’s lair before the follow-up crew arrived. The strike team in question had been absolutely _thrilled_ with the particulars of her assignment, and her partner even more so. All qualms on the character of the latter aside, Andromeda, as elected captain of the follow-up crew, had to admit that they made an extremely effective team… Even as she waded through ankle-deep piles of dark, greasy ash (the final corridor had been cleared of bodies in the most direct and expedient manner), a light weight landed on her shoulder, shaking its paws in revulsion. A second figure,  a square-jawed witch with close-cropped grey hair, entered as they reached the final small annex at the end of the hall.

“If she’s gone ahead and started without us,” Amelia Bones told her closest friend in her deep, booming voice, “I _will_ arrest her for it.” The Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement held up a twisted warm mass of metal between two fastidious fingers and threw it on a pile of similarly dysfunctional Nomaji handguns. “Though one does have to admire her technique. Mass reverse-projectile spell powerful enough to hit the entire fortress, and only affecting non-magical items? Someone’s got her knickers in a twist over someone else’s bio-runic rubber shields, doesn’t she?”

“I certainly hope so.” Andromeda cleared a final narrow path through the ashes. “It’s going to be a very dull finals match otherwise. And it’s not as if she has nothing but the mountains in her repertoire; she’s just never had to think on being creative before.”

“She’s never fought at the Invitationals before either,” Amelia pointed out. “And we’re not the only one out there with qualms over that cunt of a wand of hers’ interpretation of ‘anything goes’. There are protocols that the circuit runners follow when they _are_ running the circuit, and within those parameters there’s no doubt but that she’s the best, but those parameters won’t apply in Dublin, will they? As soon as that wand realizes that that’s the case… That it’s not in the bag, and that it’s going to have to work for it…”

“We’re that sure that there’s more to the thing than she’s talked on, then?”

“Chaim Levy from Israel is. There’s a reason he’s refused to take her on till now; he says anyone who fights her is fighting her _and_ the demon possessing her wand, and that he’s not raising his own wands against it till he’s in an environment that’s prepped for a fight where anything _does_ go. Some call him an alarmist, but those of us who don’t are making damned sure that the wards will account for everything up to and including the apocalypse. Past that now, now that we’ve all seen Weasley-Cartwright in action. Thirty nine minutes and twelve seconds against a hundred twenty, and no offensive spells? As soon as that thing sees him standing there and realizes they’re opponents, we’re all in ‘who the hell knows what happens next’ territory. Ireland’s calling in every International Warder there is to lock the shields down beforehand.”

The door at the end of the hall was intact: unsplintered and unbroken. A tidy semi-circle before it had been cleared as a welcome mat. Minerva McGonagall leapt off of Andromeda’s shoulder. The three women examined the sign on the door, scribed in bold, flourishing letters in sparkling black and orange ink.

**_PRIVATE PARTY_ **

**_BY INVITATION ONLY_ **

“I must say,” Andromeda mused. “That it has been _far_ too long since we’ve had a girls’ night.”

“Are we not waiting for Narcissa?” Minerva inquired.

“Right here,” a voice said behind them. They turned and looked up as Narcissa Black Malfoy slid out of the air shaft in the high ceiling and levitated herself down. Her original shirt was entirely gone, replaced by what could only be Charlie’s grandfather’s jumper. Her half-bundled hair was striped black with soot and ash, and the draggling ends looked chagrined, to say the least.

“Salazar’s snugglies, girl!” Andromeda greeted her. “Don’t you look like you’ve been shagged up against the alley wall by a handsome, roguish, fly-by-night Gryffindor of a dragon-wrangler! How was it?”

“Hot,” her sister said. “We apparated in right on top of Driscoll and his crowd, just as we anticipated, and when they tried to take advantage of me, Charlie boiled all of their eyeballs right out of their skulls for them. Then, after he got Driscoll’s confession on crystal, he tore all of their bollocks off with his bare hands and transplanted them into the empty sockets, rammed their own wands up their arses _with_ their own wands, and hung them all from the walls and door to discourage other intruders while I set the alarms.”

“Really?” Even Andromeda looked taken aback at that.

“Mm. He’s quite knacky with sticking charms.” Narcissa examined the sign, and knocked crisply. “Namirembe Obonyo-Higgs! Have you gone and got started without us?’

The door opened. Namirembe, clad in her black leggings and neon-orange sports bra, her bare feet now encased in a pair of black chained motorcycle boots done up with orange and black striped ribbons in place of laces, looked up from where she was pouring tea from a hideous pink-and-kitten patterned pot.

“Only on the interrogation and the refreshments,” she greeted her. “Her full confession’s on the cube on the desk, Madam Bones, and she says there are lemon creams and jammy dodgers in the third drawer there.’

Amelia Bones pocketed the cube and performed a prudent check on the drawer and its contents before retrieving a pair of half-empty packets. She conjured a biscuit plate and laid everything out on the linen-covered desk.

“I must say,” the Director of the DMLE observed to the gagged, squat woman secured in the rocking chair. “That I _really_ don’t like what you’ve done with the place.” The woman, pop-eyed and sweaty-lipped, gurgled in terror as the mottled yellow wand trailed its tip over her as a salivating tongue, sniffing and murmuring lasciviously and obviously at her.  Andromeda stroked Minerva’s re-felinated ears as she seated herself, pouring her a saucer of cream and setting it before her on the coffee table. Narcissa settled on the pink velvet sofa and accepted her offered cup, transfiguring it discreetly into the more classic Wedgwood as she helped herself to a lemon cream.

“Isn’t this lovely,” she said. “Do you know, in all of those years that Lucius worked as a military strategist, he never once told me that battles are better with biscuits?”

“Everything's better with biscuits.” Andromeda took a jammy dodger, prying it carefully apart and nibbling at the jellied strawberry center. “So, Mrs. Malfoy. How was tea? I must say we’ve all been wondering how the Master-Adept would present himself in a situation where protection is entirely contraindicated.”

“We had a simply lovely visit, thank you, Mrs. Tonks.” Narcissa dipped her lemon cream, ignoring the collective sniggers. “Darjeeling, fire whiskey, cucumber-mint and egg-and-cress sandwiches, an exotic fruit and cheese tray, treacle and wild blueberry tarts, bite-sized _pain au chocolat,_ almond torte… Dobby truly outdid himself. No shagging over the piano bench or up against Grandmother’s china cabinet,  but then again, we did have those mutual protocols to establish, a Dark Mark to remove and a battle to plan. Swamped doesn’t even _begin_ to describe it.”

“Ah well.” Her sister patted her knee. “You just sit and rest, then. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything, after all. Where do you suppose they’ll take you for dinner? Vichy’s? La Panache? Chanson des Cloches?”

“Charlie mentioned the possibility of cooking for us when he was castrating Driscoll. He said he makes a truly excellent lamb and Guinness stew, and a wonderfully complementary apple strudel with _creme fraiche_. I’m sure we have a wine or two down cellar that we could bring as our contribution, and they’ve a Nomaji bookshop right across the street from their new house, did I tell you?”

“How very nice. Did you introduce them to Abraxas’ portrait at any point?”

“Now, now. You know the rules. Not till the third date. And it won’t be just Abraxas anyway, we want to introduce them to the whole family all at once. Dobby’s making arrangements with Kreacher to bring over Mother and Father and Auntie Walburga and Uncle Orion too. Sirius and Remus will want to be there, and Dora as well, I expect, never mind you and Ted, and I don’t know about you, but I cannot _wait_ till they all meet the man who’s running Hogwarts these days.”

“What about the Weasleys?”

“We’ll see.” A giant convulsive shudder shook the fortress, and a mighty guttural roar. “Ah. That would be the second wave of goblins. Such a misunderstood people, really.” Narcissa smiled at Dorrie Carrow, the whites of her eyes now rolling in abject terror as the wand nuzzled at her hair, tugged playfully at the pink bow squatting atop, and emitted the fetid, rank odor that it exuded when particularly over-excited. “Don’t worry, dear. It’s just flirting with you. Consummation is someone else’s job entirely.” A soft knock sounded at the door. “And here we all are.”

The door slid open. The man standing there bowed correctly. “Ladies,” he greeted them. Andromeda rose to offer him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Jammy dodger?” she suggested. “Lemon cream? They both go very nicely with the lapsang souchong.”

“I’m good, thanks.” The man turned to examine the figure in the rocker.  The figure stiffened as it processed his identity. Its cheeks turned a pale, mottled tapioca as he pulled up a chair and leaned the huge sword he carried against the desk. The women smirked at each other. Minerva blurred back, setting her cleaned saucer aside.

“I take it from your presence here that things are under control below-stairs?” she inquired.

“Oh yes,” Remus Lupin reassured her. “The ferals have all been sent to wherever it is that naughty ferals go, and Sirius was having such an enjoyable time there with the rest that I didn’t have the heart to minimize the personal therapeutic potential. He sends his regrets, inasmuch as he is able to feel them right now, which isn’t very convincingly. The induced rebound of drained positive emotion that takes effect when Dementors are forced to interrupt their efforts _is_ quite gratifying.” He crossed his legs, examined his shoes and trouser legs, and spelled them tidy and pristine. ”With the sheer numbers involved, ‘party’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. I don’t think he’s been that thoroughly stoned since that Led Zeppelin concert back in May of ‘75, and he didn’t come down off of _that_ high for three days.”

“How does it work, exactly?” Narcissa inquired, interested. “I mean, what happens when you spray them?”

“They shred,” Remus explained. “Like confetti. Pink, minty confetti. It looks exactly as if they’ve got caught in a tumbler. It’s marvelous, really - freshens the air _and_ the mood, and you’re made lovely and toasty from top to toe besides. Oh, and you go over a bit giddy with it in the moment, though it in no way compromises your judgement and awareness, and of course, there’s the natural satisfaction of a job well done afterwards. Headmaster Cartwright says that the only side effect he’s noticed is the tendency to hum happy tunes at random for a week or so afterwards, and a noted improvement in one’s ability to keep things in perspective for about twice that.”

“You do look quite cheery,” Namirembe noted. “How’s your sense of perspective feeling right now?”

“Quite exceptional, thank you, and I’m working up my mental playlist of accompanying happy tunes as we speak.”

The huge woman chortled. Minerva’s smirk grew to an outright grin. The nundu wand giggled shrilly and hopped back, bowing with a gesture that was as good as an eager invitation to play. Dolores Umbridge Carrow King struggled so violently in her bonds at that that she nearly knocked over her chair. Remus caught her neatly with a flick of his wand.

“Now, now,” he said reprovingly. “No need for that. First things first. Since we’ve never actually met, Mrs. King… Allow me to introduce myself. Remus John Lupin, a.k.a Moony, a.k.a McWolf. Former werewolf and current Defense against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, long-term fond friend of Mrs. Pandora Williams Lovegood and the late Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood, and of course, doting neo-uncle and newly appointed co-guardian of the lovely Miss Luna Lovegood of Ottery St. Catchpole. For the record, Luna is not actually my biological child, though that doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference right at this moment. That enhanced sense of perspective, perhaps, though as we’re being honest, she’s always felt like that to me, or at least to Moony, who, as corporeally disenfranchised as he may be these days, has never quite managed to make it to the strictly metaphorical level.”

“Too many big words,” Namirembe noted from her seat on the desk. “And her grasp of complex sentences doesn’t seem all that.”

“Ah. Thank you, Mrs. Obonyo-Higgs. It’s lovely to meet you too, by the way. I’m a big fan, and may I say that I simply adore your boots? Pandora says hello,” he informed the petrified woman before him. “And has asked me to step in for her tonight and let you know exactly what she thinks of you. Restrictions, Director Bones? I wouldn’t want to step outside the boundaries of the strictly legal.”

“I’m here as a guest at a private party, Mr. Lupin. The sign on the door states that quite clearly. I wouldn’t say that my job title is strictly nominal right now, but I won’t mention your expression of your proxy opinions in the official report as long as none of the rest of you tattle on me to Minister Malfoy.”

“Minister…” It was the first word that the woman had spoken, half-formed behind the sodden, displaced gag.

“Malfoy,” Narcissa supplied. “Dear Cornelius didn’t feel well enough for the home visit tonight, so my Lucius stepped in. Don’t you worry, Amelia. Even if it did get back to him, he’d likely just lose the paperwork. You know how he is, always  so terrible at keeping track of the details.”

“As you were then,” she said amiably. Remus reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a small pebble, placing it neatly on the floor before the rocker.

“A loan from a friend of mine,” he said to the party, and removed a second item: a tiny wooden trunk bound in miniature chains. “I found _this_ wandering about downstairs.” He placed it beside the pebble, enlarging it and flicking it open as the transparent version of Ren’s police box slammed up around rocker, woman, and trunk. The nundu wand ducked out just in time. Remus Lupin crossed his legs and sat back elegantly, sipping his lapsang souchong as he watched the boggart within rise from the trunk and turn to face Dolores Umbridge Carrow King.

 

* * *

 

**_Manaus, Brazil  
_ **

**_July 1st, 1971_ **

**“... and then he cast a Notice-me-Not on the snitch, transfigured himself to the frog, glamoured himself gold with wings, jumped on the referee’s shoulder as he swung in for the fouled quaffle, and spent the next ninety minutes launching himself from broom to broom till he was bored enough to ride the closest bludger back to his seat. I had quite the task spotting the glamoured snitch in order to remove the spell he’d cast so the game could end. Such a bad little boy, my Ramonzinho.” Silva pinched his nephew’s cheek indulgently and filched the last** ** _acarajé_** **from his plate. Ramone stuck his tongue out at him. His uncle smirked and reached out to tilt his fedora down over his eyes.  Ramone pushed it back and poured them both a bit more wine.**

**“I was bored, not bad,” he defended himself. “And I was not little either. I was fourteen then, and I had been taller than you for a good year before that.”**

**“We were banned from the stadium for the rest of the season,” Silva told Lucius. “And I have not yet recovered. If I were not a phoenix I would be dead now of a heart attack, never mind annoyance. He returned home for dinner. I, on the other hand, was there till well after midnight.”**

**“Stop,” Lucius begged, weeping with laughter. “If you love me at all, sir, stop. I cannot... I am dying here; I cannot breathe!” He slumped down in his chair, chortling. Silva laughed too, just at the sight.**

**“Eat your dinner, my heart,” he said indulgently. “Before it grows cold. And now I will tell you a great secret, shall I? Ramonzinho does not think Quidditch a silly game at all. He simply holds a grudge there because he has absolutely no talent for it.”**

**“I do too have talent!” Ramone protested. “I am excellent, in all positions!”**

**“He flies too fast,” Inez told Lucius, helping herself to** **_moqueca_** **. “As Chaser, he overshoots the quaffle; as Beater, he is the danger rather than the bludgers; as Keeper, he lets far too many goals in because he insists on practicing his speed-racing techniques around the hoops in order to improve his finesse - though truly, he is simply showing off - and every team he has ever played on forbids him categorically from playing Seeker because it always becomes a personal challenge between him and the snitch to see which of them may loop the field more quickly, and they both are completely distracted from the game.**

 **“I have only ever played on one team,** **_Senhora Professora_** **, and then only for three weeks.”**

 **“He was banned again,” Silva informed his red-faced, gasping heart. “In perpetuity, from all associated games at Castelobruxo in his first term. His** **_first_ ** **first term, when he was but eleven, and that was before he was officially considered a bit much.”**

**“You are a terrible priest,” Ramone mocked-sulked at him. “To disparage me so. I am going to tell Jesus on you, and He will cry because you have made me feel so bad. Emotionally bad, not bad at Quidditch!”**

**“Bad, bad, bad,” the priest mouthed at Lucius.** _**“**_ ** _So,_ so bad.”**

 **Lucius just wheezed. Inez patted his back and spooned more** **_feijoada_ ** **on his plate.**

**“This has been so wonderful,” she said as, quite some time later, they all polished off their dessert and coffee. “I cannot remember when I have enjoyed an evening so much. We should finish up though, or we will be late for the opera, Antonio. Are you sure you two are alright to go back to the hotel?”**

_**“Sim,**_ **_sim."_ ** **Ramone waved her off. “I have inscribed my new sequence on our robes, see?” He held out his sleeve. “Even if the sun sets before we are back, we shall yet shine together.”**

**Silva smiled at him softly at that. Lucius waved to the server. Inez leaned in and kissed his cheek.**

**“You are very gracious,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy,” she said. “And again, I thank you. I shall never forget the gift of these days you have offered all of us together.” Her face was smiling, but her eyes were bright with unshed tears... Not one of her male companions said a thing. They were none of them in a position to comment; it had been an ongoing condition for all of them at uncertain intervals all that weekend. Lucius just smiled at her sideways as he slipped a discreet sheaf of Nomaji banknotes in the provided brightly-woven bill folder and waved off the offered change… She reached out and touched his pale hair, under his own fedora. He and Ramone had indeed gone to the cinema that afternoon to see Casablanca while the two teachers were out shopping for this and that, and Ramone had insisted that they wear the appropriate attire.  It had been a quite extravagantly enjoyable experience. The film aside (which it hadn’t been; Lucius had privately determined that the first thing he would do when he returned to England was to visit his personal tailor and have himself a set of designer robes made along the lines of the cut of Bogart’s trenchcoat), they had sat in the back row, Notice-Me-Nots firmly in place, and made several memories that Lucius was quite certain even Jesus would not be able to obliviate.**

**“The wards are set,” Silva told them yet again. “On the rooms.”**

**“We** ** _know,_** **_Tio_** **.” Ramone rolled his eyes indulgently. “The password will only work till sunset. Then, like the chocolate factory in the book, no one comes in and no one goes out.”**

 **“Mm.” Silva tched at him. “I am yet a better Warder than you,** **_querido_** **, and you will show respect, mm?” Ramone leaned over to kiss him as he Summoned Inez’ shopping bags from under the table.**

 **“We will take these back for you,” he told her. _"Nao,_**   **it is no problem at all. You do not need to carry them into the Opera House, they do not make good accessories.”**

**They made their way out to the steaming narrow street. The humidity hit Lucius with the force of a tidal wave. He had to take several deep breaths to control his gag reflex. The city of Manaus was situated at the confluence of two rivers, and it had been such an extremely wet season that a full half of the sewers, such as they were, were unpleasantly overflowing. The stench, never mind the mud, was nothing short of noxious.**

**“You will ride your broom back, Ramonzinho,” Silva ordered. “I do not want you walking the streets this close to nightfall when there is so much standing water about, and so many shadows.”**

**“The hotel is less than six blocks away,** **_Tio_ ** **.”**

 **“Obey me,** **_querido_** **. Even Inez and I will be flying tonight.”**

**Ramone sighed, but hauled out his new broom from his pocket, enlarging it. He hopped on, Lucius stepping up beside him. They  linked arms firmly about each other’s waists as the renewed Notice-Me-Not shimmered around them.**

**“Have a wonderful time, sir.” Lucius put his hand over his heart, bowing lightly.  Silva returned the gesture with that soft smile in his dark eyes as Ramone settled his weight.**

**“I love you,** **_Tio,_ ** **” he said. “You be a good boy, heh?** **_Boa noite_ ** **now!” He winked at him and Hernandez as they shot up and up, dizzily fast, shifting easily and in perfect synchronicity together as they flew high and back toward the hotel that Silva had selected, furthest from the turgid, rising waterfronts of the river districts. They were descending again almost before they had hit their highest altitude, slamming smoothly to a stop a bare half-inch above the deep, rancid puddle right in front of the three-story building.**

**_"Nossa Senhora,_ this is disgusting.” Ramone wrinkled his nose as they hopped neatly onto the rising step. “Never mind the lethifolds, the toxicity there is enough to eat through your shoes.”**

**They slipped inside and up the staircase, and up and up again. They had rented two rooms on the third floor, one for Hernandez and one much larger one for the priest and the boys. They were not luxurious, but they were comfortable and clean and unlike most of the other rooms in the hotel, each had an attached loo. Lucius’ only complaint was that the beds were far too narrow for two, and, of course, that there were three of them there.**

**Ramone spelled their shoes clean, and murmured the password. The wards hummed as they stepped through, and slammed up immediately. Soft, radiant light met them, and not a single shadow. The young Brazilian dropped Hernandez’ shopping by the door and kicked his shoes and over-robe off, discarding them in an unceremonious heap on top of the bags.**

**“I am going to take a shower,” he announced. Lucius nodded as he sat to remove his boots. He pulled off the first, then the second, looking up as Ramone didn’t move.**

**“What is it?” he asked, smiling quizzically at him.**

**“I am going to take a shower,” Ramone said again. “Would you join me, Malfoy-from-England?’**

**Lucius blinked.**

**“Join you,” he repeated. “In the washroom?” In the entire ten-plus-four months that the two young men had lived together, they had never once been in the loo at the same time, not even to share the sink when brushing their teeth.**

**“That is where the shower is,** **_sim._** **”**

**“I would like that,” Lucius said after a moment. “Carriera-from-Brazil. But only if you are very, very sure.”**

**“I am sure.” Carriera-from-Brazil held out his hand. “Come, my Luz. Come with me now.”**

**And Lucius rose and took his lover’s hand, his clothes, wands and holsters all magically falling in a light heap behind him.**

**The door to the washroom closed softly. As it did so, one of the woven bags beside the door in the main room tipped over, falling lightly on top of Ramone’s abandoned robe. Below the robe, under the pile, there was a small twitch. The bloodthorn wand emerged, rolling slightly just under the edge of Antonio Silva’s rented bed.**

**The pile twitched again. The wand reared up, black as midnight, the crimson tip so vivid a red it seemed almost liquid.**

**And the pile… Half of the pile, somewhat larger than it had been just a moment before, shifted, and a glistening shadow slipped out, blending perfectly with the light tiled floor as it slithered across the room to the rumpled, unmade bed by the window. It reared up a bit, pushing the half-fallen blanket back, and began to work its way between the two thin mattresses atop the low iron frame.**

 

* * *

 

He was trapped. No way out. Bloody McNair had modeled the north tunnels after the moving staircases at Hogwarts, and as soon as he'd set foot on the first step down to the third level, it had snapped sideways and shoved him through an illusory wall, dropping him down a good thirty feet into some kind of half-rotted root cellar.  He'd fallen hard, landing on (of course) his right arm. His wand, by some miracle, was still intact. His wand arm... Wasn’t. He was literally holding the protruding bones in and straight with his left hand.

Kingsley ‘Shack’ Shacklebolt cursed violently as the occupants of the root cellar circled and moved in. Eyes gleamed in the shadows. Teeth glimmered. There was just enough light to identify their forms. They were, even without the light, completely unmistakeable. Shack had spent his ISEP year at Uagadou, and the characteristic stench of those beady-eyed, sniggering and slavering, pack-minded, near-inevitably psychopathic little shits destined to Change to hyenas was one he'd never forgotten.

He knew where _this_ one was going; oh yes he did, and he only had one thought to be going on with there: bugger _that_ for a bunch of bananas. Shack set his jaw grimly as the ranks about him closed and tightened, prowling and sniffing and salivating. He didn't know if this lot were Animagi or the real deal - with McNair's penchant for zoological nasties, both Magical and not, they could have been either - but one way or the other...

There was no way - _no_ way - he was getting out alive.

There was also no way on Earth, Purgatory, Heaven or Hell that he planned to go out as take-away. Shack murmured a quick prayer to whatever gods there were, and let his braced arm fall so that his wand was pointing straight at the ground. One more word followed, and the floor of the pit lurched, buckled and broke.

As it turned out, they were Animagi after all. The forced stalagmite that impaled Kingsley Shacklebolt, not through the shoulder as it had when he'd cast the same spell at Ren Weasley-Cartwright's duel, but through the left side of his torso, allowed him just enough time to watch the skewered men and women scream and twist, contorting half back to human form before they burbled into glass-eyed, empty silence.

Shack was surprised. It didn’t really hurt at all. His last thought before the magic overtook him, snapping the stalagmite that impaled him off at the base and wrenching him sideways at the exact angle to crush his heart as he apparated back to Wiltshire, was another prayer that somehow, the expression on his face would display that truth to whichever of his team-mates survived the dawn.

 

* * *

 

**They lay on Lucius’ bed, kissing deeply. Lucius moaned hard, pushing up as Ramone pumped him slowly with slick deft fingers, twisting his damp pale hair around the fingers of his second hand and tugging his head back as he nuzzled and nipped softly at the hollows of his bared throat. “Carriera… We should not, we…”**

**“Shh,” Ramone murmured. “Shh, my Luz.** **_Tio_ ** **will not be back for another two hours, at least. We have all the time we need.”**

**“Time for what,” he managed, and his eyes opened, startled as Ramone drew his fingers away and rolled on his own back. Lucius propped himself up on his elbow.**

**“Carriera?’ It was uncertain.  The fingers brushed his lips.**

**“I wish you to make love to me,” Ramone said quietly. “I wish to be one with you, Malfoy-from-England.”**

**There was a deep, prolonged pause.**

**“You mean…”**

**_"Sim."_ **

**“Car… Ramone. You do not have to offer me this. It truly does not matter to me.”**

**“I know. But it is what I wish.”**

**“Are you not frightened?’ he asked directly.**

**“Not of you, no. Never of you.” Ramone propped himself on his own elbow in turn, turning to face him and regarding him seriously. “You worked a miracle, my Luz, and through that miracle,  I have found another. That as I am now, after all, yet myself - fully and completely, untouched and unaltered - those boys did not take me after all. They were but shadows, defining themselves only by what I could offer them, and as I offered them nothing, they could take nothing from me.** **_I was never lost_** , **and now… Now, thanks to you, I never will be.” He traced his lips. “It is a matter of love, heh? Love cannot be taken or stolen or lost either; it can only be given, and as we will be making love, you would be not be taking me. I would be giving to myself to you. I** **_wish_ ** **to give myself to you.”’**

**“Would you rather not accept my gift? I would not mind, truly.” Lucius batted his lashes as coyly as the other boy had ever managed it. Ramone snorted with laughter.**

**“You are such a** **_puta,_ ** **Malfoy-from-England,” he said affectionately. “Do not worry. You will receive your turn, I promise.” He bounced on the mattress, on his back again, and flung his arms out dramatically. “** ** _Vamos!_   ** **Have at me.” Sniggering, Lucius leaned over and kissed him. Ramone lowered his arms, tugging at him. Lucius shook his head.**

 **“I may be a** **_puta_** **, Carriera-from-Brazil, but I am, at the very least, a pragmatic** **_puta_** **. As we have the time, we will take it, and then your uncle will not feel obliged to send those eyebrows of his flying to Jesus to report us should we not able to sit comfortably at breakfast.”**

**Ramone winced. “There is that,” he conceded. “Yes, there is definitely that. Very well. You may approach me as the delicate flower that I am.”**

**“Urgh,” Lucius said, a good forty five minutes later. “Hot. Also, mm. Get off me, Carriera. Also? Ow.”**

**“** ** _Pobrecito_** **.” Ramone rolled off him and patted his bare rear. “I think another shower may be in order, heh? I am sticking to the sheets. Here, I will fetch our pajamas so that we will be decent when** **_Tio_ ** **returns.” He sat up (a bit gingerly, it was true) and was just about to set his feet on the floor when he was yanked back bodily. He grunted, startled, as he sprawled back on the bed.**

**“What…”**

**“Carriera,” Lucius whispered, his eyes fixed and staring.**

**“What? What is it?”**

**But Lucius could say nothing more. He could say nothing at all. His tongue was thick, dry ash in his mouth. He just pulled his feet up, huddling, hauling Ramone close, and pointed. Ramone followed his gaze, puzzled.**

**“Luz, what…”**

**And his own eyes widened and widened and widened as a bare corner of a glistening shadow squirmed out from between the mattresses of the bed opposite.**

 

* * *

 

A knock sounded. Remus gestured minimally with his holly wand. The figures inside the box were Silenced.

“Password?” he called.

“Woof,” a muffled voice said. “OW! No you _don’t,_ you… STUPEFY!”

The door slid open. Padfoot staggered in, hauling a large limp figure by the collar and dropping it unceremoniously at his lover’s feet.

“Good boy.” Remus scratched his ears affectionately. Sirius blurred back.  His grey eyes were shining, his thin cheeks lit with a rosy, healthy glow. Even his hair looked thicker. “All done, then?”

“Sunshine, happiness, bunnies, kittens, puppies, butterflies, rainbows, _and_  unicorns,” Sirius confirmed. “I haven’t felt this stoned since the Led Zeppelin concert back in ‘75. Wotcher, coz!” he greeted Narcissa. “I ran into Charlie down on the south side, and he asked me to bring you this. Said that since he did Driscoll, it was only fair. Ran into Luke too; he said he’d’ve taken him and saved him for Ren, but he’s not really into gutting. Also, he told me to stay and watch, and Andromeda too, if she was still here? Also to record it all since he wanted to see our reactions in the transformative moment?” He offered her a quizzical look.

“Oh for… I’m not terribly into gutting either. _For_ the record.”

“Have you ever tried it?” Andromeda inquired.

“One does not have to experiment with certain things to know that they’re not to your essential taste, Andromeda.”

“Come on,” Sirius coaxed. “He told me it would be the perfect end to the perfect evening. Morning. Whatever. And I’m all out of Dementors, and I want my _dessert_!”

“You,” Narcissa informed him. “Are a disgrace to the name of Black.”

“We all are. Those of us who aren’t - weren’t? - are all dead. Except Reg. Turns out he was alright after all. Did you know?”

“Of course. He and Lucius adored each other. Discreetly, of course, but in the end, he was the little brother that he never had.”

“He _was?”_

“Yes.” Narcissa smiled at him. “We’ll sit down together one day soon, and we’ll tell you all about him. The real version. He was absolutely crucial in many of Luke’s operations, and we both fully intend to make sure that everyone - everyone - knows exactly how much of a hero he really was.”

“But… I thought…”

“Mm?”

“I just thought.” Sirius  struggled. “That…. That he died alone. That only… Only Kreacher ever… That nobody else ever cared for him, you know? I’ve been thinking about that… A lot.”

Narcissa came and took his thin face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

“He was loved,” she said firmly. “Beyond all measure. When this is all over, we’ll share a few memories, including the one of his expression when I showed him what I’m about to show you now.”

“Huh?”

“He’s the only person I ever did show,” she said. “Till today. Luke included. Well, one other person knows, but that wasn’t me showing. That was him walking in on me at an inadvertent moment. And if any of you ever do tell, I will hex you into the middle of next week.”

“Recorder’s running,” Namirembe observed. “And if this is what I think it is, I _am_ going to turn you over my knee, Nissie Black Malfoy. You told me you were allergic to Mandrake!”

“Man…” Andromeda looked startled. “Narcissa, what…”

Narcissa blurred. The room echoed with stunned silence.

“Bloody hell,” Remus Lupin said inelegantly, half of his remaining tea spilled down the front of his Armani. “You have _got_ to be shitting me!” The magnificent lioness hid her face in her paws. Sirius’s eyes took up half his own face: huge and glowing with wonder and pure delight.

“Oh my _God,_ ” he said breathlessly. “Oh my _God._ Please, please, _please_ tell me that this isn’t an hallucination? Moony, _please_ ; I’ll do anything, _anything_ , even that thing I said I’d never, ever do, if you only tell me that this isn’t an hallucination!”

“There’s something you won’t do?” Namirembe asked him with interest. “Really? What’s that?” The lioness pulled a paw down from her eye and rolled it at her.

“It’s not so bad.” Andromeda, reaching out to examine her tail, was promptly swatted with it. “Bit impractical, but when it comes down to it, mine’s a lot worse. A _lot_ worse.”

“What?” Narcissa blurred back. “ _What?_ You’re… _What?_ Also, how can it be any worse than being the female incarnation of Godric bloody buggering Gryffin… Oh, shut up.” She threw the last jammy dodger crossly at the crimson-faced, hysterically wheezing Minerva McGonagall. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“I canna,” McGonagall gasped. “I canna _e’en._ Wha’ did you have to say to the Hat to get _tha_ ’ past the threshold of Slytherin House, Miss Black?”

“It’s not about being a Gryffindor,” Amelia Bones said, smiling. “It’s got nothing to do with Gryffindor at all, Minerva. Bravery, yes. Gryffindor, no.”

“No?”

“No. Her husband is England. As we were made to realize tonight… He always has been. The lion, or lioness in this case, is England’s protector.”  The Director of the Great Britain’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement  stood and bowed to the startled Narcissa, lightly and gravely. “Our national symbol, of bravery yes, but too of love and passion and the stalwart, faithful heart. If the Hat were to have anything to say, it could only comment on what we all have ever known… That here stands a woman who loves her man with everything in her -  with everything she is, and ever was, and ever will be.”

“We should _totally_ make her a Marauder!” Sirius said to Remus excitedly. “The Queen of the Marauders! She could be our calendar girl! Wait, you’re an Animagus too, Andie? Show us, show us!”

“No.”

‘But _Aaaaaandeeeeeeee…”_

“Gig’s up, sweetie,” Amelia told her best friend. “He’s going to be like a dog with a bone now.”

“I will be,” Sirius said to her sincerely. “I absolutely, _absolutely_ will be!”

‘I’ll show you,” Andromeda said magnanimously. “If you’ll tell me what the thing is that you told Remus you’d never, ever do.”

Sirius hesitated… Then leaned over and murmured in her ear. She raised her eyebrows at him and smirked - and blurred. He yelped and hurtled back against the wall. Narcissa’s cup crashed and shattered.

“You’re a _skunk_?”

“Black and white,” Andromeda confirmed. “Not a reflection of how I see the world, but as how the world sees me - the white sheep of the Black family. Calm and reasonable and even-tempered till I’m not. Willing and able to produce a phenomenal public defensive stink as necessary - that’s the lawyer in me - but not, of course, in any direct, deathly, unprovoked and unjustifiable fashion. People run and hide when they see me coming, as my obvious family reputation and resemblance to darling Bella precedes me, though again, in my instance, it’s mostly reputation, and finally...  I have an exquisite high, shapely and perky tai...” She cut herself off, as in the distance, a deep, reverberating chime sounded, vibrating through all four floors of the complex. "And there it is. That'll be the last of the children out then. Five minutes to clear the premises before everything comes down, so let's wrap this up quickly shall we?"

“Hullo?” Namirembe waved a hand. “Only what are we going to do with this one?” She nodded to McNair. “Can I have him, Nissie, if you don’t want him?”

“You’ve still got… Ah. That was one determined boggart. Who knew you could actually die of fear?”

“Every man, woman and child she ever threw to the Dementors or lined up as subjects for her experiments in creative sadism or potential personal income?”

“There’s that,” Narcissa conceded. She jumped violently as the door crashed open, and again as a tabby-furred streak bolted down the ashy hallway. “Where’s she gone?”

“No idea, but she knows what the alarm means. She’ll be fine.” Sirius reached into his belt, and extracted...

“Is that a _basilisk fang_?” Amelia said incredulously.

“It is, and before you get your ‘that’ll be a minimum ten years in Azkaban for trafficking in illegal Class A-slash-XXXXX items’ on, I didn’t buy it. It was a birthday present.” The History of Magic professor leaned over, grabbed Walden McNair by the hair, and rammed the fang through his throat. “There. No fuss, no muss, and a bit of appropriate poetic justice too, since he’s so damned fond of his weird-arse poisonous creepy-crawlies. Got all the recordings and whatnot there, Andie? Brilliant. Whoop. Hold up.” He grabbed the last of the lemon creams as Namirembe retrieved her sniggering, dancing wand and stuffed it its chained holster. “There we go.” He tapped the police box; it reduced rapidly. Remus deftly contained the boggart, shrank the trunk, transfigured the two bodies into tiny ceramic figurines, and dropped everything in his pocket. He retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor, slinging it over his shoulder as he adjusted the lines of his suit jacket.

“It’s been a pleasure, ladies,” he said. “A most productive, never mind entertaining meeting. I’ll be sure to send around copies of the minutes.” He offered Sirius his arm. “Shall we, my darling?”

“Don’t you sound bent.” His fiance kissed his cheek as he took it. “Make sure you’re working that when I introduce you to Mother’s portrait. I’ve always wondered whether someone’s painted head could actually explode, and letting on that I’m marrying a great flaming ex-werewolf might just do the trick. Only, we’ll leave off the ‘ex’ for fun, alright?  On three, now. One… Two...”

 

* * *

 

 **“This cannot be,”  Ramone whispered. “This cannot** **_be!_ ** **We looked!** **_Tio_ ** **checked; he checked** **_everywhere!_ ** **We watched him do it! There are no cracks, no damaged floorboards, the pipes are sealed...” He eased back, trembling hard, his Summoned wand clutched in his hand. Lucius’ mind whirred as he glanced around wildly. His eyes fell on the tipped bag beside the pile of displaced clothing, and horrible realization dawned.**

**“He did not miss it,” he said. “He did not miss it at all. We brought it in with us ourselves, Ramone, past the wards! It must have been stuck to the underside of the dining table at the restaurant and folded itself among Professora Hernandez’ things when she stowed her bags underneath; it must have crept out and hid between the mattresses while we were in the shower! It is the only dark place in the room!”**

**The shadow oozed toward them. Lucius tipped his wrists automatically, but he was naked and there were no holsters there. “Cast more light!” he urged frantically. “Cast more light! Or your Patronus!”**

**“There is already light, and the Patronus will do no good! There is nowhere for the thing to flee! Why is it coming out now?  I do not** **_understand;_ ** **the light is everywhere, and we are not sleeping or looking away!”**

**The shadow eased implacably toward them. They could feel frigid cold easing off of it as it reared and turned from one to the other, halting not a foot from the bed as it swayed and  rippled and writhed indecisively. Lucius could see that its edges appeared to be thinning and expanding even as they watched, increasing the creature’s physical area as it took the measure of its offered selections. In the stark light, against the stark light, they could see that it was not black at all, but the deep, slightly mottled grey of a recent corpse, under which the colours milled and struggled against each other in its autonomic efforts to camouflage itself.**

**“Change,” Lucius whispered harshly, unable to tear his eyes away.  “Change, damn you! It will not take you if you Change!”**

**“And leave it to take you?** **_Nao,_ ** **we must distract it. If we offer it two distinct moving targets, perhaps it will not be able to decide!”**

 **“And perhaps it will! Is there** **_no_ ** **way to take the wards down?”**

 **“** ** _Nao. Tio_ ** **set them, and the effect of the phoenix’ associative magic alters the fit of the key in the lock so that...” He paused, struck. “Call out to him.”**

**“What?”**

**“Call out to him! To** **_Tio!_ ** **Yours is an empathic bond, heh, so if you project your emotions as a cry for aid, he will sense it! I know he will, and he will come! We just have to hold it off long enough to…”**

**“RAMONE, NO! GET BACK, YOU VILE…”**

**He blinked - he and Ramone both did - as astonishingly and impossibly, the lethifold obeyed. It actually slid back a few inches. For one half-moment, their terror turned to bewilderment… Then they shrank back again as deliberately, precisely, it turned away from its apparent first choice. Its movements seemed oddly jerky and forced rather than silken and fluid as it turned to face Lucius square on.**

**“What the...”**

**“It is protecting me,” Ramone whispered, horrified, staring at the bloodthorn wand clutched in his hand. It was glowing radiantly, and the crimson tip was so vivid it seemed almost to drip down the blade. “It is focused on its purpose; it will not do anything but protect me now. I told it directly before I began to study for the exams that I did not wish to be altered in any way by any creature, that I wished to remain as God made me, and that I was not particularly fussed on how it managed it… And now the threat is here.  It forced it out from between the mattresses because that is the bed that I chose; I would have been taken in my sleep otherwise, but as it wishes to prevent that, and you are here with me right now, you are its solution!”**

**Barely had he voiced the last word when the lethifold reared fully, twisted sharply and** **_lunged_ ** **. The two young men barely registered the first twitch before Lucius dove away and off of the bed, his duelist’s reflexes quicker than any jungle cat’s after over a full year of Silva’s merciless physical regime.  There was nowhere to go though; the only angle available to him threw him directly into a corner, and before he could move again, the lethifold was pivoting sinuously and stretching to block off his escape.**

**“LUZ! NO!”**

**Lucius plastered himself against the wall, arms outflung as he pressed back and back and back. He felt his hair literally icing over from the intensifying radiated chill, his skin numbing, his throat closing in anticipation** **_(they crush the larynx first, always, so that no one hears your goodbyes)_ ** **, his bones aching: splintering, crushed, pulping;** **_now_ ** **he thought hysterically,** **_now would be a_ ** **really** **_good time for all the lessons to take hold, I must Change, I must_ ** **Change,** **_it is a vital moment, the body Changes in the vital moment as the core senses that it is vitally threatened, comeoncomeoncomeON!_ **

**The thinned edge of the nightmare before him brushed his cheek almost gently.** **_Tasting_ ** **him. Under a fine, forming layer of frost, his flesh crawled. It slunk even closer, pressing up against him.** **_Caressing_ ** **him. His heart swelled and throbbed; he had never felt so aware of his body in his life, he could even feel his veins shrinking back and away, frantic for life, to** **_live_** **, to** **_not die_ ** **-**

 **Then the lethifold was jerked back as six foot two inches of naked, midnight-skinned, blazing-eyed angel of bloody buggering bollocking** **_God_ ** **seized it from behind and** **_hauled_** **. Lucius’ mind was yet screaming in panic and terror, but his reflexes kicked in right on cue as he took advantage of the split-second distraction to dive out of direct range.  Thwarted, the lethifold swayed slightly. For a moment, just for a moment, it seemed as if it would turn on Ramone again - and then it was spun about as the bloodthorn wand reared up, the crimson tip bending and aiming itself at the nightmare as it redirected it to Lucius once again.**

**“I REJECT YOU!” Ramone Carriera roared, and hurled his wand across the room. “I REJECT YOU!”**

**"Ramone, NO!  Movemovemove, you must Change, ChangeChangeChange, NONONONONO!" and the thing lunged at him again and again and again, and Ramone lunged in his own turn again and again and again, screaming furious epithets all the while. Still,** **_still_ ** **the wand would not be deterred, forcing the lethifold around and rerouting it at Lucius at a different angle every time as he ducked and tumbled and dove… Just for a second, for the third time, the thing paused…**

 **And then it started up again, aimed purposefully this time to drive him in a specific direction: that is, into the washroom and behind the potential closed and locked door.  A positive** **_tsunami_ ** **of vicious Portuguese poured forth from Ramone at that, and terrible as the young Englishman’s accent yet was, ten months-plus-four was more than enough immersion to provide him understanding of every syllable.**

 **_“I REJECT YOU! I REJECT YOUR PROTECTION!_ ** **COME TO ME, YOU FILTHY DISEASE OF A** **_PUTA!_ ** **MY NAME IS RAMONE HENRIQUE MIGUEL-MARIA EMMANUEL ROCHA DOS SANTOS DE CARRIERA DE** **_SILVA,_ ** **AND BEFORE GOD THE FATHER AND IN THE NAMES OF EVERYONE WHO WAS EVER LOST ON THIS EARTH AND SHALL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN,** **_YOU. WILL. NOT. HAVE. HIM!_ ** **”**

**_“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”_ **

**And Lucius screamed and screamed as his lover hurled himself forward at the lethifold one last time, knocking it flat with the full weight of his body and seizing it with both hands as he rose up, set his feet wide, and flipped it around himself as a shimmering ghastly flag or banner. There was just enough time for the young Englishman to catch one last look at his eyes: fire, light and triumph incarnate, before something within him** **_ripped._ ** **He screamed again, this time in violent agony as every cell in his body twisted, reshaped, shrank…**

**Then not only the window, but the wall around it exploded as the wards crashed down. The entire front wall of the hotel turned to so much dust as the lethifold now completely enveloping Ramone was blasted back and through. Down, down, down: three stories down, and then there was a second blast of pure energy, and the world shifted and shrank and rearranged itself. Lucius landed lightly on his feet on the cobblestones, the world rising and growing about him again as he did so.**

**"ACCIO WANDS!" he roared. His wands slammed into his hands. Before he could ease the air past his throat to form another syllable, though -**

**_"FIAT LUX!"_ **

**And the entire block, the entire city, the entire world, it seemed, was flooded with dazzling white as Antonio-Maria Silva’s third spell slaughtered the night. Lucius had just enough time to process the vision of an enormous, utterly enraged pitch-black phoenix, caught in the throes of a furious battle song and streaking after the shadow diving into an open sewage drain, before something hit his head, hard, and he fell and knew no more.**

 

 


	19. Thursday Morning (2): Patterns In Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Aftermath
> 
> Major Character Deaths
> 
> Quotes from ‘The Silver Chair’ by C.S. Lewis, e.e. cummings, and J.K Rowling
> 
> Bold font- Brazil, 1971  
> Regular Font - England, 1991
> 
> Comments appreciated and welcomed as always. XO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vocab (Latin and Brazilian Portuguese)
> 
> Kyrie eleison - Lord, have mercy
> 
> Christe eleison - Christ, have mercy
> 
> Coração - heart
> 
>  

**_Castelobruxo_ **

**_July 4th, 1971_ **

**He lay on his side on the sofa in the priest's office, staring sightlessly at the wall. Across from him, Antonio Silva moved about, stooped and crumpled in on himself as an old, old man. His hair was dull, his face grey, and the heat about him was so intense it was a near-visible miasma.**

**"We are out of time," the Headmistress said as she came in. "We have managed the three day extension on his portkey, but cannot ask for another or there _will_ be questions. Antonio, what are we going to tell his father?"**

**"I am not worried on his father." Silva coughed dryly. The sound grated. "Has the message you sent to London been received?"**

**"** ** _Sim._ ** **He will be waiting for the call. You are sure?"**

**"There is no other option. He has no other options. And it will accommodate for him while he recovers besides, in whatever way is required of it. It is its nature." He eased down on the chair. It smoked a little.**

**"What of you?"**

**"What of me? I will burn. I have survived it before, and should God will it again, so shall it be. If He does not..." He lifted a shoulder. "Let it be done according to His will."**

**Inez said something rather vulgar in Portuguese, and left the room.  Silva breathed for a bit, then came over and eased himself down beside Lucius. He did not touch him.**

**"Take His hand, my heart," he whispered. "He will guide you back, but you must first take His hand. He will not force you."**

**"Tell them I'm dead." It was near-inaudible. "I wish to stay here with you."**

**"And Narcissa? And England?"**

**He didn’t answer. Silva wrapped his hand in the edge of his robe and touched his hair.**

**"Your wand is broken," he said.**

**"Manuel's wand?" Lucius’ eyes actually cleared a little at that.**

**_"Nao._ Your dragon. The spider is fine, though temporarily unresponsive. It will respond again in time - it is most emphatic that though you cannot use it right now, it will not abandon you - but for now..."**

**Again, Lucius said nothing.**

**"As you are returning without your dragon, your right hand will, of course, need a new companion. It will be your first priority,** **_sim?_ ** **Garrick Ollivander will be waiting for your call, and will assist you." The priest slipped a long box out of his pocket. Lucius watched incuriously as he opened it, revealing two bloodthorns and two tiny, half-charred white feathers. "You will take them both, and leave the rest to God."**

**"Do you know him?" Lucius asked.**

**"Ollivander?** **_Nao,_ ** **not personally, but there have been times when one of my students here has had need of his custom services while at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. Dragons and unicorns are extremely rare in this part of the world, and phoenixes non-existent, so wands with such cores are not often drawn to our imports. He understands those condition and works to accommodate them as is needed.”**

**"And you are sure he can be trusted?"**

**"Inez says so. She met him while on her ISEP year as well, and liked him immediately. She is an impeccable judge of character."**

**"What of the appointment with the court-ordered legilimens?"**

**"He is waiting for you in the Headmistress’ office, but the examination will be token and there will be no alterations. Your name has been removed from the case books on all levels."**

**_That_ ** **woke him up all the way.**

**"You have erased me?"**

**"** ** _Nao_. ****I have set permanent measures in place to dissuade thoughts of any of our officials from lingering on you.  If anyone asks, the answer will be '** **_sim_ ** **, that one, of course, he was fine, all is well, now who is next?' It is not a sin, it is simply prudent. And the students’ thoughts have been diverted too, as you know. They will not forget you, but will be inclined to remember you as just another exchange student - a homeschooled one who attended here on independent application, and was allowed to remain beyond the events at the beginning of the year for vague vital reasons of his own."**

**"Is it reversible?"**

**"** ** _Sim._ ** **By me. I accomplished all these things without assistance. I consider them of vital necessity." He touched his cheek through the robe. "You are not lost. You will not be forgotten. You will simply be, for as long as God wills it again... Hidden."**

**"And what of you?"**

**"I do not know. My superiors are calling me back to Sao Paulo. As Ramone was the last of my family, it is to be expected."**

**"That is not what I meant."**

**_"Sim._ I know. And the answer is the same. I do not know." He Summoned a plain leather satchel from his desk. "It will shrink, and has an undetectable charm on it. As powerful as I could make it." He tucked the box of feathers and thorns inside, and removed a black case the size of a Nomaji  briefcase. Lucius half-sat, eyes widening as he saw within the rows upon rows of crystal vials, full of pearled tears.**

**"All that I have collected over the years. There is so much to weep on in this poor, poor world, and that which can help should never be wasted. You will need them," his phoenix said. "There are many more underneath, within the extended depths. Use them prudently and well. It will be a long war." He closed the case. "There is a book of local potions recipes, some of which use these as ingredients and some that do not. There are also several cases of preserved seedlings and seeds for your woman, along with a guide and suggestions again on how they may be used to your mutual advantages. None of them grow in Europe. She will enjoy them, I think."**

**"Thank you, sir.” It was automatic, but sincere.**

**"You are most welcome." He repacked the case into the satchel. "I have one more thing for you, my Luizinho."**

**He said nothing. Silva held out his hand. In it was a gold chain, and a small gold cross, glowing softly.**

**"It was on the street," he said quietly. "The chain broke. I have repaired it for you."**

**Lucius couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stop breathing. He didn’t know which was worse. Silva didn’t put the chain about his neck, just set it carefully on the table beside him.**

**"There is a glamour on it," he said. "None can sense it or see it unless you will it."**

**"It is all you have of him."**

**_"Nao._ ** **It is not. I have my memories. My memories of this year, and of the two of you, and of the joy you brought me together. I lost him when he was eleven, my heart.  Death is not the only way we lose those we love - the least of them, truly - and these last few months... It has been as if the great God gave him back to me unbroken and healed. Not unchanged or untouched, but..."**

**He struggled.**

**"I am sorry," he said. _"Desculpe-me,"_** **and he broke into great wracking sobs, tears rising as steam off of his fatigued, grey face even as they left the ducts. Lucius pushed himself up automatically, and went, not through the front door of the office, but through the second, to the rear room. He had never seen it before. It, too, was long and narrow, with a sleeping pallet on the stone floor by the western wall, a tiny altar before the eastern window, and a small, deep stone fireplace on the wall opposite the end of the pallet. A crucifix was hung over it so that an individual lying flat (there was no pillow, just a single sheet and a folded blanket) could look up and see it. A Bible lay on top of the folded blanket. There was no other furniture, not even a bookshelf.**

**A smaller door led to the loo. There was a deep, square pool there, with a sitting ledge, and a small square on the lip with several runes. They were basic, equating to 'hot', 'cold' and 'ice'. He pressed ‘cold’, then ‘ice’. The pool filled rapidly with both. He went back to the other room. He could not touch the priest, reaching instead for his wand before remembering. He did not curse, just concentrated. For once, there was no effort involved, and the wandless spell came easily.  Silva was lifted magically, and carried to the back room. Lucius stripped him magically and lowered him into the pool. The cloud of steam was ferocious. He emptied the tub and filled it again, with straight ice this time, sitting cross-legged and watching. He repeated the procedure three times, finally daring to reach in and rearrange the semi-conscious man's body flat before simply piling the ice over him and returning to the front room. He sat on the sofa and took the cross in his hand, holding it loosely as he looked down on it.**

**_“You are so beautiful, Ramone. So, so beautiful.”_ **

**_“Trees are beautiful, Malfoy-from-England. Flowers are beautiful. That is the best you can come up with? Beautiful?”_ **

**_“No, but I will need at least ten minutes.” He kisses the lush, ripe mouth, the glistening dark shoulders, the thin, exquisite line of his long throat. It shivers with laughter under his own lips. He licks it impulsively: sloppily, playfully, all over. Ramone swats him and drags him away and up. Lucius turns his head and kisses him again. It deepens and intensifies, and the ten minutes are not needed after all, and this time, the second time, there is no pain at all; just cursing and sweating and swearing and panting on both sides, and there is a moment where Ramone stops to allow the snake to slither off his wrist, and several more when he stops again just for the pleasure of hearing him beg him to start again._ **

**_"Mm," he murmurs. "Say 'por favor', Malfoy-from-England. You are in Brazil now, heh?"_ **

**_"I would say, rather, that Brazil is in England,_ ** **heh?"** **_and they collapse and laugh helplessly, and Ramone tries to start up again, but he can't; they are both laughing too hard, laughing till they ache with it. The snake squeezes him one last time as if in affection, then slithers up to lock around Ramone's wrist. Ramone strokes it with a finger, then slips it off and puts it over Lucius'._ **

**_“For your angel again. It was from her sister, after all. Now. Tell me what you shall remember of me, my Luz," Ramone says as they recover together, lying entwined and kissing in the sweet, sweaty moment._ **

**_"Your accent," Lucius says promptly._ **

**_"What accent? I do not have an accent. You are the one with the accent. Tell me."_ **

**_"I am bound to sound quite dreadfully maudlin, I warn you now."_ **

**_"This is not a concern, heh, just now?"_ **

**_"This is true." He pulls back a bit, fanning the sheet as he slides down a bit and settles comfortably on his shoulder. It fits the elegant angles of his cheekbone and jaw perfectly. "The colour of your skin, then. It glows like dark, burnished wood. Almost everyone at home is so pale. There are exceptions of course, but there... Aesthetically, the closer you are to a ghost - to translucence, to nonexistence - the more beautiful people tend to think you are. The analogy translates on other levels as well, particularly with women.  The more bleached out the skin and hair, the less is expected of them intellectually. Narcissa exploits her strategic advantage there ruthlessly."_ **

**_"You are a poet, my Luz. Also, do not take this the wrong way, but your angel truly frightens me."_ **

**_"There is nothing of_ ** **you** **_that is blond," Lucius concedes, and as the dark eyes dance at him mirthfully, he says quietly..."Your laugh. Even when you are silent, when you are sober... You meet my eyes with yours, and I hear it. It is the colour of your skin as a frog, that laugh. Deep, pure, perfect blue. Like the heart of flame where it burns hottest and brightest. The world could burn, Carriera-from-Brazil, and if I burned with it, surrounded by that blue, I think I would yet laugh to hear you laughing."_ **

**_Ramone says nothing. Lucius's hand traces his ribs and trails up. He touches the small, glowing gold cross between his collarbones and turns it in his fingers. It is warm, not from magic, but from his body._ **

**_"And what poem shall you offer me to remember you by?" Lucius asks him._ **

**_Ramone presses his lips to the top of his head._ **

**_"This," he says. "Always this. This memory of this poem of ourselves, that we have written together._ ** **Lumos** **_was only a spell till I met you, my Luz. I love you."_ **

**Lucius lowered his hand. Even as he did, he felt an odd sensation: a deep vibrating hum resounding throughout his skull. He gasped, surprised, and opened his mouth to cry out as intense pain spiked between his eyes, but before his lips parted, before the air was past his vocal cords, the pain was gone. The vibrating, too, dissipated abruptly, and he heard a distinct, perfectly audible, decisive click as a key turning in a lock. The internal wards had set at last.**

**Lucius took the chain, unclipped it, and bending his head, fastened it around his neck. He tucked the cross inside his shirt as he rose and went back through the door to return to the loo. It was as if he felt eyes on him, and he turned. The man on the crucifix looked as tired as he felt. He went over and reached up, touching the carved wooden crown of thorns.**

**_This is not acceptable,_ ** **he whispered aloud.** **_I do not find this acceptable. Any of it. This world... The way it is now, whether here or in England... It is not_ ** **acceptable.**

**The eyes continued to regard him patiently. A door opened behind him. He turned. Silva was there, leaning heavily against the wall, hips wrapped in a transfigured towel.**

**"And does He have anything to say to you on the matter?" the priest inquired.**

**"Does He ever?"**

**"There are days He is louder than others. Today He is quiet, but then again, I do seem to have ice cubes in my ears.  It is a problem,** **_sim_ ** **?"**

**"Yes," Lucius said. "It is. I would greatly appreciate it, sir, if you would grow my hair a bit longer. Mid-back should do it."**

**Silva didn't flick a finger, but a shimmering pale river was suddenly flowing over and past the young man's shoulder blades. Another non-flick, and the river was sedately routed, contained at the nape and flowing straight down rather than as a shining, sprawled waterfall. Lucius shook his ponytail back and straightened his shoulders. He held out his hand. Silva came and took it. His was still hot, but not burning. Lucius turned it flat, palm up - and disappeared. Silva blinked. He looked around, then down at his hand. He raised the one over the other; soft light rained down from the palm. He looked down for a full minute at what he held. Then it, too, disappeared abruptly, and Lucius was before him again.**

**"You must learn to accept and embrace your own insignificance - to voluntarily and joyously submit to that which reduces you," he recited. His drawl was precise and bored, his elegant aristocratic features indifferent as cool marble. "To become, not a shadow, but invisible, and yes, despicable to all those whose good opinion you truly value. Only then,** **_only_ ** **then, will you become that which God may use to further his own ends. You must, as the Book says, decrease so that He may increase."**

 **"You have an excellent memory,** **_Senhor_ ** **Malfoy."**

**"Thank you, sir. I do try."**

**"You have been an exemplary student," Antonio Silva said. "A credit to your teachers and your family. I am sure they will be very proud of what you have accomplished this year."**

**"Are you?" Lucius drawled again. "I imagine that my father, at least, will be quite displeased when I come home with a half-crippled wand hand. Only my dueling master made the mistake of assigning me to another for my final exam, you see, and the poor thing suffered a most unfortunate and fatal accident before he could remove the training lock he set on me in order to test my ability to adapt to targeted injuries."**

**"Ah. That is a problem. Let us see what we can do for you."**

**He took his hand. It took a full two minutes, his face absorbed as his fingers brushed the younger man’s palm, over and over in soft, delicate movements.  When he released him, Lucius flexed his fingers. The first three responded perfectly. The upper halves of his  index finger and thumb, though, were crooked and rigid, and might as well have been formed of fused steel.**

**"It will hold?"**

**"It will hold. It is keyed to my magical signature, and that, as you may know, is somewhat... Unique?"**

**"There are none before you and none after you who can replace you," Lucius agreed. "Thank you, sir."**

**_"De nada."_   The  towel shimmered till he stood, again fully dressed, in the familiar black cassock, cloth belt, white collar, and glowing beads. His polished wand holsters glinted on his forearms. Lucius looked down at himself. His plain clothes were gone; he was clad in exquisite formal funereal black, the crest of the Heir of House Malfoy glimmering at his high-collared throat of his robes. A single empty wand holster was strapped to his forearm, under his right sleeve. Silva placed his hands on his shoulders and pressed lightly. Lucius slipped to his knees. The hands on his shoulders removed, resting on his shining head.**

**“May St. Michael the Archangel defend you in battle,” the priest said formally. “And protect you from all evil.”  He tilted Lucius’ chin up and traced a small cross on his forehead with his thumb as he murmured a few more phrases in Latin, then bent and kissed the pale, cool forehead. “And as He knows your heart: past, present and future… For all of the sins that you must and will commit toward the end of ending of this war, Luis Malfoy, Jesus forgives you.** **_In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”_ **

**The two looked at each other for a long moment more.**

**"I ask that you tell Professora Hernandez not to contact me," the young man said finally. "In the event of..."**

**He stopped.**

**"I have had enough of facts," he said. "I prefer to remember the truth as I see before me, as it is now."**

**"I will tell her," Silva said. "Though you may remember this as you remember me. There is nothing in this world - any world, my Luizinho - that may separate a phoenix from its heart."**

**Lucius rose to his feet and hefted his satchel over his shoulder.**

**"Goodbye, sir." He held out his hand. "Thank you for all that you have taught me this year." He let his face calm, his features stilling: cold, hard, aloof. The light drained out of them, abandoning the blue and leaving cold steel grey. Antonio Silva watched as he stepped out.**

**"God be with you, my fine young Englishman," he said softly. He turned, his eyes catching sight of a pale envelope on his sleeping pallet that had not been there before. He Summoned it and opened it mid-air so as not to burn the paper. It was one of the slips that bereaved students placed in the offertory plate at Masses in the chapel, with the names and their memories of those whom they had lost.**

 

**_I was born Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. I came to Brazil on what was supposed to be my holiday. I knew nothing of what, or whom, I would find here. I do not know what or how much I will be allowed to retain when I leave. If your reassurances that I will yet remember everything have been presented me as a kindness, I pray that your God will hold the memories I must leave behind, and that He will restore them to me once the Long Night is over. If you feel you need my forgiveness for any sin of offering me false reassurances out of the love we bear for each other, know that you have it - and remember, Father, that if this son you have raised to love you must be lost, that he would never willfully, deliberately or through careless disregard, malice, arrogance or pride, have forgotten any of it._ **

 

**Silva turned the paper over. There was a tiny sketch of a phoenix there, etched in black ink. Under it were two lines of exquisite calligraphic script.**

 

**_he carries his heart with him(i carry him in my heart)_ **

**_Luz Antonio_ ** **_Coração_ ** **_de Silva_ **

 

**The priest folded the paper, again without using his hands, and, tucking it back it the envelope, slipped it between the pages of his Bible.  As he did, his cassock and belt burst into flame. He lifted his hands, turning his wrists up before his eyes. The veins were shimmering faintly beneath the dark skin. Even as he watched, the lines on his palms cracked, split and curled back, black and singed around the edges. Leaping flames emerged, engulfing his fingers. The seam of the veins in his wrists followed. He made his way to the small, deep fireplace, carefully, and slipped within, kneeling on the cleared, cleaned hearth and bowing his head.  Above him, the figure on the crucifix waited silently, patiently.**

**Antonio-Maria Silva raised his burning hands in supplication. His tongue was a burning ember in his mouth. Behind his lids and under the delicate winged brows, his dark, soft eyes were no longer dark at all: the pupils were a radiant deep blue, the irises, smoldering circles of crimson, gold and scarlet. With no tongue to form words, no eyes to close, he could not pray.  With no ability to pray, he simply became the prayer, as he too became - no, as he** **_was,_ ** **and always had been** **_-_ ** **the fire.**

**_Kyrie eleison_ **

**_Christe eleison_ **

**_Kyrie eleison_ **

**There was a deep, soft, whoosh, as an exhaled breath...**

**_holy mary mother of god pray for us sinners now and at the hour of_ **

**Then all the air in the room was sucked into, and erupted out of the hearth in a shining rush of full-born flame: a mighty fire magnified by a single held note of a low, minor melody that sounded and resounded through the dark, eternal night that bridged Earth and all of Heaven.**

 

* * *

 

_England_

_Twenty Years Later_

Lucius Malfoy walked through the silent, deserted halls of his Manor, turning down one hall, and another and another and another.  He looked neither right nor left, only went to the great fireplace in the drawing room and slipped the bloodthorn wand out of his sleeve. He sliced his thumb neatly, and squeezed a single drop of blood into the heart of the third engraved rose from the left on the stone mantle. The blood disappeared.

“ _Por favor_ ,” he said. The back of the hearth slid aside. He ducked and slid through. It slid back. Behind it was a short staircase leading down to a small, bright and shadowless room. There were two beds there, neatly made, two night tables, two simple desks and chairs... On the bedpost closest to the left-hand night table hung a strand of pale beads: fifty nine in total, set at regular intervals and culminating in a small silver cross. On the table were three books, a tiny statue of a mother and child, and a card inscribed in English and Spanish. A deep arched alcove hosted a high window, and behind it, the illusion of deep green and jewelled foliage, brushing the glass not in patterns of shadow, but rose and garnet, green and sapphire light.

Lucius sat on the edge of the left-hand bed. He touched each of the items in turn, turning each of the books in his hands: the Nomaji Bible, Kipling’s ‘The Jungle Book’, and the final, thickest volume, C.S. Lewis’ ‘The Complete Narnia’.  There was a marker in that last. He turned to the page, and read.

**'One word, Ma'am,' he said... 'One word. All you've been saying is quite right, I shouldn't wonder. I'm a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won't deny any of what you said. But there's one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play-world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia.**

Lucius put the book back gently and removed to the second bed, reaching out and lighting the single candle on the night table before opening the drawer. It was filled with notebooks. He removed the one on top, opened it on his knee, and turned till he reached the first blank page. He touched the bloodthorn wand to the paper. Black ink streamed out, forming neat, precise elegant letters, reforming into columns of names: human, goblin, house-elf…  Finally, the ink flow ceased. Lucius put the wand down, and retrieved from beside the candle a Nomaji biro, writing the last few names by hand.

**_John Dawlish_ **

**_Kingsley Shacklebolt_ **

**_Alastor Moody_ **

He closed his eyes, the image of a lean, bloodied tabby cat lying still, teeth and claws sunk deeply into the body of a grey rat missing what would have been, had its owner died in his original human form, a single finger. The rat, from its expression, had died in excruciating pain and terror. The cat, on the other hand, had died near-instantly, a falling brick half-crushing her skull, and behind her mouthful of Pettigrew was a grim, victorious smirk. Lucius watched in his memory as Neil Cartwright knelt beside the pallet in the conference chamber and spelled himself immaculate from top to toe before picking up the tiny body in his big hands, spelling the fur clean in turn of dust and blood, and tucking it into the cradle of one arm while he groomed it smooth with careful, calloused fingertips.

  ** _Minerva McGonagall_ **

 The biro stilled. Lucius remembered again.

 _“She jumped in front of me.” Nymphadora Tonks wiped her streaming face. “Threw herself down the stairs and knocked me flat. One of the late-comers had a Muggle handgun. He had to be a late-comer, Namirembe’s spell got the rest. I don’t know how… I didn’t even_ look _like myself, she couldn’t possibly have known it was me! How could she have known it was me?”_

_“Your shoelaces.” Andromeda’s eyes were raw and red. “She was half up the stairs and looked down and recognized you by your bloody buggering shoelaces.”_

_“But I transfigured my boots before I went in! I didn’t_ have _shoelaces, Mum!”_

_“You must have transfigured them back when you morphed, baby doll,” Ted said gently. “Into a man, later on. You changed the rest of your clothes, after all.” He nodded down. The laces of his daughter’s left dueling boot were straggling, trailing on the floor. “They do give you away, yeah? Anyone who knows you even a little can spot you, no matter what you look like.”_

_“But why would she...” She burst into tears. “I’m a_ Black! _She didn’t even_ like _me!”_

 _“She loved you,” Arthur Weasley corrected. His face was blank and grey and exhausted. “You were the only person that any of our children ever invited home who could make Bill smile. And she knew why you always turned your hair red whenever you visited too. Not because you wanted to fit in, but because you knew you just looked too much like Bellatrix otherwise. She knew that Charlie never asked you to do it, either. That you’d just read up on your history, like Blacks do, or heard the stories about her brothers, and were just… Kind with it. We always thought…” He rubbed his face. “We always thought you and Charlie might… And you visited him every day in the hospital. You made him laugh. In the middle of all that. It’s all a mother wants. For her children to be happy.” He buried his face in his hands, crying wrackingly and suddenly. “What am I going to_ tell _them all? It’s Bill’s birthday on Saturday, and he’s going to wake up on Sunday, and I’m going to have to… And Ronnie, she’s bought him his broom for Christmas; she was so proud of him for working so hard this term, and wasn’t going to make him wait till summer after all. All the children have been so good; they’ve been so_ good _through all this, with Bill and Charlie both. How am I… What do I_ tell _them? What do I do now?”_

Under the drawing room, Lucius inscribed carefully, his mind’s eye fixed and focused on an image from a universe away - a small, plump woman, face streaked with blood and soot and tears of rage and fury as she dueled fiercely in a crumbled stone hall, not for her own life, but in defense of…

**(NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH)**

  ** _Molly Weasley_ **

  _“What_ are _we going to tell them, mate?” Charlie scrubbed at his round cheeks with the hem of his half-burnt t-shirt. The dragon scales on his arms were gone, leaving only tanned human flesh, spattered and smeared with dirt and blood and two universes’ constellations’ worth of gold and red freckle. The dragon tattoos were nowhere in visible sight. Narcissa, still in his grandfather Septimus’ jumper, caught his hands gently as she sat beside him and handed him a conjured tissue, spelling his flushed, tear-swollen face discreetly clean as she slid her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “About the rest of it? We still don’t know what happened, not the rest of it, not… And it’s still going to have to be answered. Answered_ for _. There are too many loose ends, half ends, they’ll all…” His voice cracked. “They’ll be thinking and thinking and thinking, on... Everything. They won’t be able to_ stop _thinking, and they’ll_ see _them, all the loose ends hanging, and they’ll want_ answers! _Christ,_ I _want answers!_ ”

_“We don’t always get what we want,” Ren said wearily. “In any life. Maybe what we know will have to be enough. That she did her best. Dumbledore was Supreme Mugwump. Only it wouldn’t exactly have been difficult to get Obliviators in to take care of things, would it, on that ongoing basis? We know that your mum saved you, Charlie. That Billy wasn’t supposed to get hurt. That your mum did do her best to help him after he was. It wasn’t a very good best, but sometimes there just aren’t any good options to be going on with. She couldn’t have fixed him, after all. Nobody could have. The necessary knowledge just wasn’t here to work with. So she wasn’t evil. Just a mum doing her best to hold her family together. And she screwed it up, and her kids got buggered up, but what mum doesn’t, and what kid doesn’t? Maybe… Maybe we should just let it go. If we go poking, we’ll probably stir up even more pain that we don’t expect, and we might get answers or not, but without her point of view... There’s only our point of view. And that just isn’t enough.”_

_He pressed his palms to his eyes, his own face twisting._

_‘Who are you thinking on, Master-Adept?” Narcissa asked him gently, arm still about Charlie. “Really?” She fully expected him to say his own mother, Lucius thought; that much was obvious, but..._

_“Ron,” Ren said dully.“My Ron. He hated being poor. He hated my fame and celebrity. He was so jealous, yeah? I wanted to smack him round the head, I told him so many times that I’d trade in all my money, all my fame, for my mum back, but he just… And now he’s got all the money, and the fame because his mum will have died a hero, but I can’t_ help _him. I can’t tell him that I know how he_ feels _. I don’t know if I_ do _know how he feels. I would have known how my Ron felt, but not… They’re not the same. They’re not the_ same _. And he’s going to want Harry and Neville at the very least; he’ll think they’ll understand; they’ve lost their mums too, after all, and have all the money to be going on with that doesn’t - won’t - matter now. Because when it comes down to it... He’ll just want his mum.”_

_“Arthur?”_

_Ren looked up and over. Pandora Lovegood was there, kneeling before the weeping man as he sat beside his wife’s body, a few feet away._

_“Moony told me,” she said to him. “He came and got me. I’ll go with you to tell the children, alright? Luna’s with them. We’ll tell them all together.”_

_“Tell them... What?”_

_“I don’t know,” Pandora said honestly. Painfully. “But she’s not coming back, so you have to be there for them. And I’ll be with you. We’ll just… We’ll figure it out together, alright? All of us. It’s not good enough, but it’s what we’ve got. We’ll just… Get through it. Together.”_

_“I can’t leave her, Pan. I can’t…”_

_“You’re not leaving her,” she said firmly. Painfully. “You’re going to your children, Arthur._ Her _children.”_

_"I'll be along as soon as I can," Lucius heard Ren say quietly to Charlie. "But I need to make a couple of floo calls."_

_"Mate, no; I don't..."_

_"I'm here, Charlie," Narcissa said, just as quietly. "Go on, Master-Adept."_

_"I won't be long," Ren said again. "I swear. I just... I have to..." He gestured vaguely._

_"Shh. It's alright." She stood and took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly on the lips. He buried his  face in her neck, clutching tightly, and then he was kissing her desperately. Lucius watched as if from a distance, and in his memory, the light brown hair coarsened and darkened, and the blonde spilled down and brightened to a deep, flaming red. Only the tears on the juxtaposed faces were the same. Narcissa's hand came up as she disengaged gently, and the black hair was brown again, and hers blonde._

_"Go on, Master-Adept," she said gently again. Ren shuddered._

_"Sorry," he said. "Sorry. Post-battle instincts, I just... Habit, just for a second I thought you were…  I'm so sorry."_

_"Shh. I understand."_

_"But..."_

_"It’s alright. Go on. I'll be with Charlie."_

_"I won't be long," he promised a third time, and flashed out. Narcissa came and kissed her husband  lightly on the forehead. He pulled her in and buried his face in her filthy hair._

_"What's going to happen now," he said. He wasn't sure what he meant by the question, exactly._

_"There'll be an election," she said. “After the Invitationals. The next few weeks will be clean-up, and will require the stable presence. I’m afraid you’re stuck there, since Amelia would be the logical choice as head of the DMLE, but there'll be too much to do there in the next few weeks for her to even consider it. It won't be for long, though, and then it'll be Andie's cross to bear, poor thing."_

_"Do you really think so?"_

_"Yes. Any resemblance to Bellatrix will be definitively negated by Augusta Longbottom’s support, never her marriage to Ted, Dora’s career as an Auror and the prospective alliance with Lupin.”_

_"He could run," he suggested. “Lupin, I mean.”_

_"He could. He might even win, but it would put Sirius in the spotlight, and Sirius isn't remotely psychologically equipped. Never mind that he likes his job, and that the very_ last _thing young Harry will need is his father as Minister of Magic."_

_Lucius sighed. Narcissa rubbed his shoulder._

_"It'll only be a few weeks," she said comfortingly. "And alright, there’s that hideous Minister’s residence to be going on with, but we can always floo back here to sleep in our own bed, at least.”_

_"Draco," he predicted gloomily. "Is going to be absolutely_ insufferable."

_Narcissa actually snorted with laughter. "Quite probably. Ah well. Christmas is coming, and it'll save on the shopping."_

_They both sobered at that._

_"I'm sorry, my lovely," she said. "I need to go. I don't know how long Ren will be, and Charlie shouldn’t be alone now."_

_He nodded. She kissed him and returned to sit beside the dull-eyed wrangler, putting her arm around him, and her head back against his shoulder._

Lucius closed the book and put it neatly back in the drawer, closing it and setting the biro beside the candle. Reached over and picked up the paperback with the silhouette of the child on the cover, surrounded by wolves. He put it back carefully and rose to his feet, straightening the blankets neatly on the two beds and checking to make sure everything was in place. He leaned down and blew out the candle. He turned to face the door. On the back hung a bright orange bathrobe. A pair of iridescent blue socks were squared neatly in the pocket, the charmed, embroidered goldfish sleeping peacefully.  

He stepped out the door. Seconds later, the fireplace sealed behind him. He followed the hall back to the small reception room. A single slim figure in black knelt before the hearth, just withdrawing his head from the floo.

“Lawrence?” he said, startled. Ren turned and stood.

“Hey Luke,” he greeted him. “Ready to go?”

“Should you not be with Charles?”

“I just talked to him again. He told me to go on ahead with you. Niss will stay with him and help him take care of things on their end while we take care of everything else.”

“Is that how it works now.” His lips couldn’t help but quirk.

“Mm. C’mon,” the Warder said. ‘Wait. Hold up.” He tapped him with his wand. The soot receded somewhat, and the worst of the rents in his clothes mended themselves. “We’ll leave a few; you don’t need to be looking all posh and untouched. No, leave the cuffs rolled up. You’ve got nothing to hide now, from anyone.”  He caught the tired, vaguely amused look. “Yeah, yeah. If it’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to handle the press after bringing down the Dark Wankers. The short hair really does work for you, by the way.”

“You are thinking on my hair right now?”

“No,” the former Harry Potter said. “But it’s the first thing the masses are going to notice. You got a line that’ll work if they ask you why you did it?”

“Yes. It is a jungle out there,” Lucius Malfoy said grimly. “And the _bandar-log_ will take advantage of anything they are able to seize and hold. That is not acceptable behaviour. “

“Really? I mean… That’s really what you plan to say?”

“Yes, and if anyone stands and look at me stupidly, I will tell them to inquire at the closest Nomaji bookshop. I will be more than happy to provide them with addresses, and, for that matter, to publish a list of my personal favourites in any given edition of the Prophet. Great Britain no longer condones wilful and ignorant and harmful navel-gazing; it leads to situations like the one we have just spent the month dealing with, and as none of us care for a repeat, I intend to outlaw it. I may only be Minister of Magic for the next six weeks, but I plan to make it a productive six weeks.”

Ren nodded. Lucius turned to the floo, looking over his shoulder as the Warder touched his arm again.

“We’ll keep it short,” the Warder said. “A quick, comprehensive press conference now, and then you can come sleep it off at our place before the longer version this evening. We’re under Fidelius; you’ll be fine.”

“I have responsibilities, Lawrence.”

“Yeah. You do. You also have me, and you’ve been awake for a lot longer than I have, so I’ll take first shift. It’ll be fine, just make the announcement that you’re deputizing me as Head Auror for the next few weeks since neither Moody or Shack made it out, and Scrimgeour’s going to be laid up at St. Mungo’s till Christmas at least. It’s best anyway, since the goblins are in the equation now.  I’m the one who came up with the story there, so I’m the one to keep track of all the details so they don’t cross.”

“You have Charles and his family to care for.”

“Again. Niss said not to worry there. He needs her right now, and you need me.”

“And your reports to the ICW? They are due on the fifteenth.”

“Pretty sure I’ll be able to get an extension under the circumstances, yeah? They’ll likely tell me that as long as I get it all in before the end of March, before the fiscal year’s over, we’re good.”

“And the letters that Ragnuk delivered?”

“One thing at a time, Minister.” He glanced around. “What have you done with Calum King?”

“Your grandfa… The Headmaster… Asked if he might borrow him for an hour or so. He promised to return him intact, and in good condition for trial.”

“Alright.” Ren’s hand slipped into his own. Lucius looked down at their firmly interlaced fingers and back at him… He was far too tired, suddenly, to raise more than the single eyebrow half-way.

“Making the statement are we, Master-Adept?”

“I am,” the Master-Adept said. “Like I said, I talked to Charlie just now. Niss too. Dinner seems a bit redundant, really, and the rest of it too. We can make the traditional show of it for appearance’s sake and public morale as necessary, but we’re all in if you are.”

The long fingers tightened.

**....I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we're leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that's a small loss if the world's as dull a place as you say.**

“I am,” he heard himself say firmly.  Ren offered him a tiny smile, reached for the floo powder with his free hand, and offered him the pot. Lucius took a large handful in his own free hand and tossed it onto the grate.

“The Ministry of Magic,” he said clearly. “Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy’s office.”

And they stepped over the hearth and into the fire together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and the epilogue!


	20. Friday Morning (Solstice Eve): The Unremembered Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter but the epilogue!
> 
> We'll be returning to Little Nev and Little Harry in 'Home from Far' after the end of 'Solace', and then, immediately, to 'Hufflepuff Takes New York'. AND we are back to our strict twice a month schedule! I swear it! (except the epilogue, which will be up before the end of this month).
> 
> The Battle of the Cabals is now known, world-wide, as 'The Scourge'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slang/Vocab:
> 
> Bogan- Aussie slang - an uncouth, rough-mannered individual /redneck/hick/trailer trash
> 
> Goede zonnewende, iedereen! - Good Solstice, everyone! (Dutch)

**The Department of Magical Transportation**

**International Portkeys Division, Ante-Room Four**

**The Ministry of Magic**

**London**

 

**Friday, December 19th, 1991**

**7.30 AM**

 

“Wands?”

 “Check.”

 “Broom?”

 “Check.”

 “Biros?’

 "Check."

 “Inks?"

 "Check.”

 “Husband?"

 "Nice try.’ Ren kissed Charlie’s nose as he reloaded his pockets with the intimidating inventory spread out over the customs table.

 "What? I’m really short. Tuck me in a pocket and no one will ever know you’ve brought me along. I’ll even polish your broom for you on your tea breaks!”

 “That’s a bit pathetic, yeah? You can’t do without me for three days?"

 “Sure I can," the wrangler said. ‘That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

 "Get used to it,’ Gustavus Richards advised him as he packed up his own kit. At sixty-six, tall and balding and with quintessentially Dutch colouring, the Head of the International Masteries Board (IM Warding: Spell-Casting) had the sagging, rumpled features of a basset hound and the sleek, streamlined body of a doberman in its prime. He wore dark blue lycra leggings, a matching close-fitting shirt, a warding broom strapped across his back, and not two, but six wand-holsters - one each forearm, at each hip, and on each calf. “Warders on our levels travel. A lot, and it’s not the kind of traveling that’s conducive to amiable company.  Best find yourself a preoccupying hobby, or, speaking as one who has suffered through the resulting inevitable four times now, you _will_ drive yourself to divorce with it.” He shrank the satchel and dropped it into an invisible pocket, lacing his fingers together and stretching his arms as he flexed his knees and rolled his neck simultaneously. “I have to say, it’s very strange not to be armoured up to the gills.”

“Is that what you usually wear to work, then?” Niamh Weasley inquired of him with interest from her seat among a jittering, excited row of well-wishers of various sizes and years, all gathered at the Ministry to see Ren off to his first Solstice as an Official International Warder. Beside her, Luna Lovegood was digging in a huge brown paper bag, handing out napkins and passing out enormous apple fritters, all baked in the shape of crumple-horned snorkacks and drooling copious quantities of cinnamon sugar. Hers squawked sadly as she nipped off the end of a horn, sounding rather like a rusty sousaphone... Trumpets, tubas and saxophones followed, in a mournful yet tuneful chorus. "Armour?"

“On the Solstices anyway. Four days of the year, we Warders can truthfully say the world is out to get us.”

“Uh?”

“We’re adjusting the ley paths over the entire planet,” the Head of the International Masteries Board explained. “It’s like physically ramming a jigsaw puzzle together into new patterns, but instead of puzzle pieces, you’re dealing with oceans and continents. And sections of continents, and everything on them. And between them, and under them and over them, all while making sure you don’t get _caught_ between them or under them, and, oh yes, that no one of the non-Magical persuasion notices what you’re doing over them. Satellites, pfft. They should have just stopped with the miracle of sliced bread.”

“What are satellites?” Ron asked curiously. He and the rest of the Weasleys had been in veritable seclusion since Molly’s death, brought home from school to process as best they could all together, but they’d all insisted that Charlie bring them to the Ministry  so they could see their new family member off before heading out themselves to New York for the first Christmas season without their mother. As difficult as that season did promise to be, they would at least be in the unfamiliar, exotic environment, unaffected by pre-established associations… Their pre-established plans to travel abroad for the occasion, therefore, Arthur had decided, would remain unchanged. “And what’s the problem there?"

“Sky cameras,” Hermione translated. "The Nomaji use them for lots of things; they’re very versatile really, but mostly they chart current and ongoing atmospheric changes so they can predict the weather. If they can tell if a hurricane is forming, for example and how strong it is, and where it’s headed, they can plan for the disaster ahead of time.  Which is dead useful really, and good warding practice you’d think, in the Nomajic context anyway, but the downside is that, on the level and in the _Magical_ context, it’s like having the Eye of Sauron spying on your every move."

Down the line, Percy extracted a much-folded insert entitled MINISTER MALFOY'S LITERARY LOVE-LIST from the fortnight-old edition of the Sunday Prophet.  “Eye of Sauron, Eye of Sauron… No title, so it has to be an in-book reference. Which one is that from then, Hermione?”

“‘Lord of the Rings' trilogy.” She leaned quite rudely across Lavender Brown and Padma Patil, waving away affronted clouds of powdered sugar as she did so, and pointed. “Read ‘The Hobbit’ first, and whatever you do, don’t base your first opinions of Gandalf on Professor Dumbledore. The description’s the same; I think the author might have seen him Apparating in the street and mistaken Fawkes flashing in and out for fireworks, but that’s as far as that goes."

Ren and Charlie and Gus all guffawed loudly. “Ren!” Sirius hailed as he approached from the lifts.

"Hey Sirius! Hey Remus! You didn’t have to come see me off, really.”

"Don’t be silly. First day of the new job, and you’re family now, right? We’re so proud, really." Sirius patted his back as he kissed his cheek smackingly. Remus offered him a somewhat more decorous equivalent. “Though that being said, you’re not the only item on the agenda.  We’re scheduled into one of the meeting rooms upstairs in half an hour; last minute Q and A session for some of the more wibbly parents of the kiddos coming along to New York. Though really, it’s Remy and Neil and the other participating professors who are scheduled. I’m strictly tea and biscuits. You nervous?”

“In a hopefully constructive and helpful kind of way, yeah,” his son said. He sat down with a whoosh. Sirius squidged in beside him and patted his back again.

"You’ll be brilliant," he said bracingly. “Where are you off to first?”

“Jakarta, Indonesia. The area’s at the opposite end of the main leyline that was affected by the blockage down in Brazil, and now that the drain’s clear, the backwash is flooding the ley paths and  spraying loose magic everywhere. Place is a real tangle of knots anyway you look at it what with all the islands, but now… It’s going to take all of us to sort it as quickly as possible before we all head off to our assigned continental nodes.”

“Ziggy and Hoo have been working up the new vectors there for three straight weeks now so that we can just go in and get’ er done,” Gus confirmed. “And they and Eiwa are already onsite setting up the preliminaries, but the waves keep coming in, they say, so there’s going to be a lot of improvisation. Best we can do is shore her up before the blast hits, and then we’re just off to our regular posts, and along for the wild, wild ride."

“And the other two?” Susan Bones asked eagerly. “Wu Ji and Fitch? Where are they?” Ren couldn’t help but grin at her name-dropping… The events of the last two months had, not surprisingly, served to bring public interest in the field of Warding to an all-time historical high, and the students at Hogwarts were now tossing around of the top names in the field as easily as they did those of their favourite international Quidditch stars. Ren had actually had several opportunities to meet with all of his new colleagues in the three weeks following the event now gone  down in history as the Scourge of the Cabals... The first and most notable occasion had been at the International Warders’ potluck-slash-Solstice-planning-meeting that Gustavus Richards had called at his home in Amsterdam, only a week after the full moon. Ren hadn’t known quite what to expect upon arrival, and his nerves hadn’t been helped any when he’d realized that not one of his new colleagues had had a counterpart on his own world.

That concern, at least, was thoroughly alleviated not ten minutes after his arrival.  Warding culture, it seemed, no matter the individual Warders, was a cross-universal constant... The ridiculous quantities of comfort food, half-rotting coffee mugs, crayon stubs, scrawled maps (the one closest to his left elbow was done up with charmed arrows and ‘Fuck This Schist' in elvish moon runes) and high stacks of disaster tabloids, both Magical and not, were all reassuring and familiar mainstays. 

"The Magnificent Seven? We’re the _Magnificent Seven_? They _do_ get that the originals were called magnificent because they all kicked it, don’t they?" Fuyumi ‘Fitch’ Mitchell of Mission, British Columbia, Canada, scanned the closest newspaper as they settled themselves at Gus’ kitchen table. She was the team’s on-the-spot crisis specialist: the one most often called in to deal with the spectacular and disastrous unexpected. Of average height, with a black pageboy and the deep caramel-coloured skin of her grandfather’s northern First Nations heritage, the rest of her, Ren thought, could best be described as a cross between Cloistered Japanese Empress and Northern British Columbian Lumberjack. The plaid flannel jeans were a particularly individual touch, especially against the contrast of the near-fragile-looking ivory and cherry wands jammed through each of the hair clips behind her ears. They looked like nothing more than lace-spun, jewel-inlaid chopsticks, if chopsticks could serve up wards that could, and did, hold back off-the-charts earthquakes and hundred-foot incoming tsunamis anyway.

“Third paragraph down.” Hoojoe ‘Hoo’ Kaur Taneja (Ludhiana, India), a slight  grandmotherly woman with huge doe eyes and a tea-rose mouth, pointed as she half-stood and reached across her for the naan. The long dangling tassels of her black and white knitted cap, done up as bobbling penguins and polar bears, batted Ren on the nose. “Oop. Sorry, Master-Adept. Beer?”

“Thank you. No problem. Just call me Ren,” he said automatically.

“‘Metaphorically sacrificing their lives for the Greater Good,” Fitch read.  “Ah. Well, that’s comforting, then. Also, what _is_ it with you Brits and your metaphors? I don’t think there’s an article I’ve read in any paper coming out of the Commonwealth since the Scourge went down that hasn’t had the word, at least, stuck in there somewhere.’ Everyone looked Ren’s way inquiringly.

“Our new Minister is taking the task of educating the masses seriously," Ren explained. “Every interview he gives now has a minimum of three primarily Nomajic references that force the newsies to do their cross-cultural research in order to interpret his references, and once they’ve educated themselves, it’s a race to prove that they understand what he’s saying and aren’t actually as ignorant as the rest. ‘Metaphor’ was one of the first, though that was a total gimme, considering he published his recommended Nomaji book list that first Sunday edition, and Norton’s 'Literary Devices and How to Apply Them’ was number two.”

“What was number one?”

“‘Modern Style’ magazine. That one came with sample photos, so that everyone heading off to the bookshops to buy out the suggested inventory won’t look like they just came in off the medieval circus train.’

“How unexpectedly intelligent of him.” Of all of the International Warders, Ren had had the most difficulty finding information on the soft-voiced, soft-featured Eiwa Hafez (Cairo, Egypt); her past seemed to be warded as tightly as his own...  She was, he knew, a first generation half-blood but the only public information available was on her Nomaj mother, a former Olympic gold medalist in gymnastics. At forty, she was the youngest of all of the Warders present save Ren again, and was clad, not in robes, but in a calf-length Nomaji-Muslim _abaya_ and narrow-legged trousers. “Why isn’t he staying on as Minister past the Invitationals again?”  

“Because he _is_ intelligent. No one with any actual brains would actually want a career in politics.” Ziggy Ingalls (Coober Pedy, Australia) pulled over a huge dish of macaroni cheese, and, not bothering with a plate, began to eat straight from the pan. Hoojoe smacked him with her naan. Hard.

“You’ve better have warded that fork against your _spit_ , and your _germs_ there, Zigmund Andrew Ingalls, because … EWWWW!”

Ziggy just chewed at her, open-mouthed and grinning. Sun-weathered, lanky, and tow-headed, he rather resembled the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, save that he came complete with brain… He was the group’s primary Arithmancer, in charge of the always horrendously exasperating geological terrain that defined Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines. He was as good a practical Warder as any of his colleagues, but his most astonishing gifts lay in his ability to predict, map and chart the vectors that any of the ferocious tangle of ley paths there were likely to take on any given Solstice. Ren strongly suspected, after reviewing his work, that the man had a more than a touch of the Seer to complement his absolute genius in pure mathematics, geospatial analysis and 3D geometry. 

“ _So_ gross.” Fitch gagged, repulsed. “You’re fifty-six years old, man! Were you born in a barn?”

“Opal mine.” Ziggy swallowed his mouthful. “And I still live in a cave. Can’t be helped. Born a bogan, die a bogan.”

Across the table, Wu Ji (Guangzhou, China), clad in faded jeans, a short-sleeved checked shirt and fraying flip-flops, ignored the lot of them as he ate one-handed and turned the pages of his copy of Ren’s notes with the other. Of the world’s six native Internationals, Wu, at seventy-two, was not only the best at both non-verbal and wandless magic, but the only Animagus. His form, the Pacific viperfish, was completely indicative of how and where he preferred to work - that is, as a shining light in the deepest, darkest depths of the world’s oceans.  The introduction of bio-runics, Ren knew, would provide the particular Warder with a truly formidable new weapon in his defensive arsenal, allowing him to work as a human, with hands and wands and the thus much refined approach, in his preferred environment.

“Can you make any of these permanent?” the particular Warder asked the new addition. Ren waggled a hand.

“Yes and no? Theoretically, yes, at least in terms of the base inscriptions, but you’d still need regular modifications and adaptations to keep them stable and efficient. Anything you scribe on yourself will need updating now and again in order to account for the changes in your body and biology as you age, and the more complex the sequence, the more modifications you’d need. On the scale you’re thinking - if you wanted one specifically tailored to manage the amounts of power we channel over the Solstice - even the most basic of bio-runic sequences would be layers deeper than any civilian would ever require, simply because we work them that much harder, and they’d likely only be functional for that one twenty-four hour period. Our cores are stretched so much from the amounts of power we channel then, see, and the bio-runes stretched along with them, that they would be right out of shape by the time the day’s out. No good for anything, so we’d just wipe ‘em off and re-inscribe when the next quarter rolls around and we’ve bounced back to norm.”

“Examples?”

“It’d be different for everyone here because of the different environments we all work in, but for you... A simple three-sigil, three-layered warming sequence that would get a standard Magical human through the Scottish winter would be completely useless at the depths of the oceans you work in. Your size and estimated power-expenditure considered…  I’d have to work you up a variation that would literally cover and wrap your entire torso, and it would consist more of stabilizing charms than anything else. Add the oxygenation and decompression sequences, you’d be more ink than man from collar to the soles of your feet, and even then, I could only guarantee your safety for eight hours or so before you had to switch back to your Animagus form to carry you through.”

“Makes sense. We’ll wait on that, then. I won’t say that it wouldn’t be useful this go around, but you’ve got enough to do before this Solstice arrives without that on you too.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Ren reassured him. “I’ll take a reading on you before we’re done here so that I’ll have the details I need of your magical signature, and we’ll meet up again the day before we head out so I can do you up. It’ll get you through the worst of it, and we’ll all feel a lot better knowing you have that in your pocket anyway, if things get especially messy. Which we all know they’re bound to.”

Wu didn’t argue, just inclined his head. “You are most gracious. Thank you, Master-Adept.”

“Just call me Ren,” Ren said for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “Really. It’s fine."

"Give us time.”  Ren blinked at Hoo as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We’re all still reeling. We did have that certain idea of what was coming, after all, and it was a bit frustrating not being able to do anything to prevent it.”

“Don’t get us wrong,” Eiwa added in her diffident way. “We know why you kept it all to yourself. The more people who knew what you were doing, the more chance there was that ill-intent would get into the mix, and render the entire plan useless. But still.” Her round, sweet face, framed in a silky wine-coloured hijab, looked suddenly forlorn and desolate. “It’s been, as Hoo says… Frustrating. And acknowledging who -  _what -_  you are… We’ll get to your name eventually. We will. But we were down to the end of the _world._ And there was nothing we could do. Any of us. We’re just… We’re so grateful, you know? Not just to you, but _for_ you.”

And there really, _really_ hadn’t been anything Ren could say to _that_. He’d just offered her a small, understanding smile instead, and passed her the spiced dal.

* * *

 

“They’re on their way over now,” Gus was saying in response to Susan’s question. Ren jerked his attention back to the present. “They’ve been heading up the teams of Nationals over the Pacific coast of the Americas, working on the surges there since the Master-Adept here opened the Amazonian Laundromat.” 

“What are you going to be doing, Master-Adept?” Sally-Ann Perks asked brightly. “After you’re done in Indonesia?” 

“I’m headed straight to South America,’ Ren said. ‘And will be working to keep the world-node clear and to bolster my fence. Every ley path crosses under it, after all, through the world-node again, and now that the drain’s unblocked, all of the extra and now unrepressed is going to be coming through to check out the quality of my work. Lots of splashing and waves, so a bit of on-the-spot tinkering will doubtless be required.”

“And you’re going  in all by yourself?” Susan said anxiously. “That sounds awfully dangerous!”

“I’ll have help,’ he reassured her. “A whole pile of it. I’ve been in talks with the bishop of the Magicals of the Society of Jesus of South America; they’re a religious order entirely dedicated to Warding, and he’s got all of his people all prepped and waiting for me when I get there.”

“He’s the one who’s been looking after my owl, Marshmallow,” Luna informed  the other students. “The bishop, that is. He’s ever so nice, he wrote me and Mummy a letter first thing after she arrived, to tell us about himself and how he planned to help her. Are you going to get a chance to see her while you’re there, Master-Adept, do you think?"

"I do.’ Ren tweaked her nose. "I’ve been invited to a post-event brunch at the Order’s headquarters  - very la, the new President of Magical Brazil will be there and everything - but I plan to stop by Castelobruxo and check on her first.“

"Did he say how she is, the last time you talked?”

“Mm. She won’t be delivering the post again, but sedate moonlit flights with Mr. Marshmallow are definitely in the cards."

"Mr… Uh?"

"Phineas,” he clarified. All of the girls giggled.

“They make a lovely couple,” Luna observed. “I’m quite looking forward to being a grandmother at some point. Though as Phineas belongs to Harry Potter, and has his hair, at least through his feathers, do you think he’ll pass down the green eyes to our grandchildren too, Master-Adept, or will they have mine and Marshmallow’s colouring?"

"The Potter genes do tend to breed fairly true," Ren said judiciously. “At least insofar as the boys are concerned. You never know for sure though. Lots of babies start out with hair and eyes one colour, and end up with something totally different later on. Really, it’s best not to try and project there - just  raise ‘em with love and support and a sense of properly warded adventure, and let them choose for themselves."

“That sounds reasonable.”  She nodded in approval. “You’re going to be a very good father.”

Ren smiled at her a bit whimsically as she offered him a fritter… He wrapped it in the accompanying napkin, charmed it a bit to keep it from squashing, and tucked it into a pocket.

“I’ll save it for later,” he promised her. “Intercontinental portkeys are best done on an empty stomach, and if I eat it now, I’ll just sick it up. Remember that, when you’re all coming into New York. They’ll run you through the scanner here and Vanish anything you’ve got going on there before you port anyway, but it’s still not a nice feeling at all, and I don’t recommend it.”

“Does everyone sick up?” Hannah Abbott wanted to know. “And isn’t there a potion or something that helps, like when you’re Apparating?”

“Pretty much, and they do spell in a potion there too, to settle things but it only does work on an empty stomach, so one way or the other, the first thing you’re going to say when you hit Ellis Island is “Right then, where’s the closest chippie?’”

 “Do they even have chippies in America?”

“They have an entire courtyard of international food stands just outside the gates,” Gus said. “Look for Hamish’s Haggis and Haddock Emporium. I can’t say that I recommend the haggis, but they wrap their fish with the daily crossword from the Times.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. As he did so, a chime rang. He braced his shoulders. “That’s me, then.”

 “Wait, you’re taking separate portkeys?” Sirius asked, surprised. “How come?”

“I’m porting into the city proper. “ Gus unstrapped his warding broom, setting it to hover, and, spelling his boots off and dropping them into that invisible pocket again, stepped neatly aboard. “Master-Adept’s porting in over the bay north of the city, further down the major ley path that runs through. I’ll be jacking into the line there to relieve a bit of the pressure - I’ll need the spill-over to boost the power in the border wards around the perimeter of the island -  and the rest’ll straighten up and shoot off toward the water. Master-Adept will reroute the extra there down to Wu; he’ll be waiting on the floor, and he’ll siphon it all in the appropriate directions. The others will be stationed at different points throughout the group of islands surrounding Java, and once the redirected hits all of them...” He ejected his primary wands from his wrist holsters and flipped them neatly, half-gloves sparkling in on his hands as he did so... The wands seemed almost to flex and stretch in anticipation.  Ren grinned at him. Gus grinned back.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And on behalf of us all - welcome to the team, Warder. _Goede zonnewende, iedereen!”_

Before Ren could answer, he shot across the room toward the central cubicle, raising his right wand and catching the glowing toy globe now hovering there with the tip. There was a bright flash, and he was gone. The children peered after him.

“Brilliant,” Fred pronounced. “Just _brilliant._ D’you know what he said at the end there, Ren?”

“Yeah. ‘Good Solstice, everyone.’” He sat down again with a second whoosh. There were the sound of the opening and closing lifts, and running feet.

“Bloody buggering bollocking queues,” Eulalia Shelley, a.k.a Lily Evans Potter’s voice rang out. “You’re the bloody Minister of _Magic_ , Malfoy; who would have arrested you if you’d hexed them all out of the way? _Bugger_ it! The board says Jakarta’s already gone, that means we’ve missed him! Bugger, bugger, _bugger,_ buggery fuckity sodding _fuck_!”

“Hey, Eulalia.” Sirius stuck his head out. “That was Gus. Ren’s still here.”

“What? He is?” She skidded in, Snape, Neil, Lucius and Narcissa right behind her. “Oh. Good. Brilliant. Um. Hello, then.”

“Hello to you too, Professor Shelley,” Ren said, mouth twitching in spite of himself. “And how are you this lovely morning?”  His tolerance for his mother since the events of the Scourge had… He wouldn’t say it had gone up, exactly, but he was developing certain coping mechanisms, most of which centered around reminding himself that he _was_ pushing a hundred forty, and therefore had well over a century of experience in handling smug, self-righteous and fretfully squalling adolescent and post-adolescent relatives. Honestly, he’d reflected more than once in the past three weeks, he’d forgotten just how much sheer _fun_ it could be to play up the doddering, bland-witted and crotchety codger.

The self-amusing game had served more than the one purpose though. It had not only got him through the episodes with his mother, but his short, intense stint as Head Auror. The general public had been quite relieved when the Minister had sworn in one Gawain Robards as his replacement last night. The triple dichotomy of Modestly Mild-Mannered yet Smoking Hot, Heroic Young Stud, Preternaturally and Frighteningly Efficient  Military Expert Supreme and Eccentric, Intemperate, Barking Old Coot had been quite disorienting.... In the midst of the ongoing chaos and uproar and furious grief and rage that had followed the Ministry’s revelations the morning of November’s full moon, Ren's erratic self-presentation had provided a definite public distraction… And self-amusement aside, that had of course, been the point. It was a lot easier to Get the Thing Done, as Neil said, when everyone was paying attention to how you were _behaving_ , rather than what you were actually _doing_.  End result, everything that needed immediately doing in terms of political and pragmatic crisis management _had_ got done, and Master-Adept Lawrence Domitian Weasley-Cartwright was, hopefully, shot of what he’d only ever  regarded as his temp job for good and all.

“ _That’s_ what you’re wearing?” Lily was saying in dismay. “Cargo shorts and an _undershirt_ ? It’s December, for God’s sake! The _end_ of December, and you haven’t even got any sleeves!”

“More the middle, really, and I’m going to Indonesia,” her son pointed out.  “It’s eighty-five degrees there. Then I’m going to Brazil, and the weather forecast says it’s ninety degrees _there_. I don’t really think I need to worry on catching cold.” He patted her cheek. “You’re such a sweet little mum of a thing, did anyone ever tell you that? Next thing you know you’ll be asking me if I’m wearing clean underwear and checking behind my ears for mushrooms and potatoes.”

“They’re called pants, not underwear. Gerroff, you. Also? Shut it.” She shoved a thermal bag at him crossly as the hordes sniggered wildly. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Your lunch. It’s your first day of work; you can’t go off without a proper lunch, can you? Roast beef sandwiches, sliced apples and treacle tart, and before you ask, no, I did not bake the tart. Sev did. I put the sandwiches together though, and put them in the bag along with the apples.”

“You _cook?”_ everyone chorused. Snape rolled his eyes.

“I _am_ a Potions Master. The ability to follow a recipe is a prerequisite there.”

“I never quite got a proper grasp on the correlative myself.” Neil stepped forward and hugged Ren. Hard. Ren hugged him back, harder.

“Nervous?” His oldest friend pulled back, arms still linked about him, and surveyed his face.

“Little bit,” Ren admitted. “Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine.” The strong arms tightened around him in a rather convulsive manner that, while not quite belying their owner’s confidence in him, put forth the clear, unspoken addendum that he’d damned well _better_ be fine.  Ren cocked his head…. The crooked, self-deprecating little smile was there, but there was a look of weary, not-quite-remote grief in the set of the mouth that made his heart ache… As far as the Warder knew, he was still the only one who knew of the Headmaster’s sweet, brief affair with Hogwarts’ late and beloved Transfiguration mistress… He didn’t know if Neil would have confided in him even so, if he hadn’t been able to bypass the wards on the Headmaster’s tower several hours after Minerva’s funeral in order to check on his oldest friend. He’d found him, not in his rooms, but at his desk in the office below, sitting in the dark with his head propped on his fist as he stared out at the thinly drifting snow. A huge striped tomcat, purely Muggle, sat before him, pushing its ears against the fingers of his free hand. Several more were sprawled across various other bits of furniture. It took a moment for Ren to process what he was seeing, and when he did, he made his way over and sat on the chair opposite, removing a large pot of not-quite-seeding catnip first.

“She left them to you?”

“Asked me to take care of them, anyway.” Neil didn’t look over from the window. “Yeah. And to water her plants.” He turned his head slightly and looked down at the sprawling, furry mass before him. It gleamed up at him, eyes half-lidded. “She left you her house.”

“Erhm. What?”

He pushed over an envelope. On the front were neatly scribed six words: **Minerva McGonagall: Last Will and Testament.**  Ren took it and unfolded the letter within, reading the three paragraphs slowly as he sat back, rubbing his scar, or rather, the place where the original scar had been.

“Amelia’s Patronus told us all to prepare for all eventualities,” Neil said. “When it brought the message round. I reckon… She said, remember, the day you realized that you couldn’t go back, that she’d always be there for you, no matter what. That you’d always have a place here, with her. D’you mind if I take the kitchen table.”

“Huh?”

“There are four cats. I reckon I’ll give one to each of the four Houses, to remember her by. She’d’ve liked that. Bit of her to keep with all of them, always. And I’ll take care of the plants, of course, but there’s nothing special there, really. Nothing that’d …” He gestured vaguely before returning to scratching the tom’s ears. “Stay with me. That meant something to both of us. So I’d really like the table.”

“Sure, of cour…” The implications of the words had hit him then.  Still, Neil said nothing, and did not look at him. They’d sat in silence for a long while.

“D’you reckon her family will be upset?” the Warder asked finally. “About the house?”

‘No. She bought out their shares there, she told me, after Elphinstone died. It was all hers, to do with what she wanted.” He’d sat back at that, and slid open a drawer, removing a wand. “Fir and dragon heartstring. It’s a survivor’s wand, Ollivander says, and would favour those gifted in Transfiguration. Focused, strong-minded, stubborn types with a bit of the intimidating to be going on with. You know anybody it might suit? I offered it back to him, Ollivander, I mean, and he said to keep it, and to keep an eye out for likely…”

He cut himself off then, and smiled a bit wryly. Ren smiled wryly back.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” he said. “She’d’ve got a laugh out of it, anyway. All things considered.”

And so it was that the next morning at breakfast, Neil Cartwright entered the near-silent, subdued Great Hall and placed Minerva McGonagall’s wand on the table before one pale-faced, red-eyed, huddled Hermione Granger. The girl looked up, startled.

“Headmaster? What…” She gasped as she recognized the distinctive markings. “Is that… That’s not...”

“Mm. Give it a go,” the Headmaster encouraged. “I’m curious.”

“But I already have one! A wand, I mean.”

“Do you? Bit of determination, effort, and training, and you could have two. One for each hand.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. She picked up the wand and pointed it firmly and squarely at the salt shaker before her. Her classmates - from all four Houses, not just Gryffindor - crowded around, watching eagerly. She narrowed her eyes fiercely, and uttered a single clear word. The salt shaker shimmered and vibrated madly…

And disappeared. In its place, a tiny brown hedgehog yawned, curled up in a spiky ball beside the pepper mill, and fell soundly asleep.

“Bugger _me_!” Angelina Johnson gawped inelegantly. “That’s a fifth year spell, that is!” Hermione just examined her new possession, pleased.

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” she said. “A _lot_ easier.” She raised her eyes to the crookedly smiling Headmaster. He bent and kissed her bushy head as he scooped up the hedgehog in one big hand.

“May I keep it?” he asked.

“You’re not going to change it back, are you?”

“No, no. I’ve got my private greenhouse up now; it’ll love it there. You’re welcome to visit it anytime.” He tucked it in his robe pocket, and made his way back to the Head Table.

* * *

 

“Ten minutes, Master-Adept,” the customs official called. Ren waved in acknowledgement, giving over to the multitude of well-wishers swarming around him… He smiled at Charlie, and straightening, turned to Lucius and Narcissa. Narcissa stepped forward lightly and hugged him. Hard. He hugged her back.

‘I’ll be careful,” he promised her.

“You’d better be.” She offered him a tiny box. He lifted the lid curiously. Soft light flooded out.

“What’s thi…” His breath caught.

"What is it, mate?" Charlie asked. Ren removed the contents. 

"It's a broom compass," he said. "With a permanent lighting charm, and an extra arrow, pointing to..."

"Wiltshire," Charlie read. Lucius smiled at his wife.

"Carry it with you," Narcissa said. "Master-Adept, wherever your calling takes you, and you will always have light in the darkness, the clear road that brings you back to us, and a place to call home."

Ren scrubbed at his eyes and pulled her into his arms again. She held him tightly. Charlie turned the compass over.

"'Not all those who wander are lost'," he read, and shook his head. "You’re one hell of a woman, Niss Black Malfoy, you know that? One  _hell_ of a woman. Here, mate.” He handed the compass back. A long, elegant hand caught Ren’s own just as he was about to attach it to his broom.

“Ah, ah.” The Minister of Magic’s back shimmered. Everyone gasped as he reached behind him and removed…

“Luke,” Ren said, overwhelmed. “Luke, no. I can’t take this. I can’t.”

"You can, and you will.” The much taller man bent and kissed him lightly on the lips, pressing the Golden Howler into his hands as he did so. The tiny sapphire and gold frog embedded in the end of the shaft shone. “It is not strictly the original any longer, mind you. I contacted the four leading Warding companies after your duel in November, and they have been working together on the projected modifications since. It is one of a kind now -  a tailored hybrid warding and racing model.”

 “But…”

“He would have wanted you to have it, Lawrence. All of those who helped purchase it for him would want you to have it. It is quite possible… _Quite_ possible… That of all people, and all things considered, they would consider you the only appropriate inheritor.”

Overwhelmed again, Ren could say nothing more. Charlie took the compass from him again and stuck it firmly on the shaft.

“Two minutes,” the official called. Ren set the broom to hover, and spelling his shoes off, flexed his bare feet and stepped up, bouncing lightly. Charlie reached up and pulled his head down for a scorching kiss.

“Have a good time, little mate,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Charlie. So, so much.”

“Sixty seconds!”

Ren pulled back from the renewed kiss reluctantly, settling himself and popping his wands.

“Alrighty then,” he said, and not just his face, but his entire body seemed  suddenly to glow with excitement and anticipation. “I’ll see you all on the flip side?”

“You will. Oh, and do give Bishop Alvarez my regards, would you?” Lucius smiled at him. “When you see him at the post-event brunch you mentioned earlier? Tell him that I look forward to seeing him in New York, and that it has been many years, but I have yet remembered him as I am sure he has remembered me.”

“Will do. Good Solstice, Minister! Good Solstice, all!”

“Good Solstice, Warder,” the Minister returned. Cheers rose as the fifteen-second chime sounded. Ren took a deep breath, raised his wands...

And everyone shrieked as the very air seemed to bend and warp as he shot towards the cubicle with a wild, exuberant whoop of joy. There was a bright flash, a sudden abrupt and ringing moment of silence, then...

“Does Brazil have two bishops then?” Luna Lovegood’s nose wrinkled slightly as she peered up inquisitively at the Minister of Magic. Lucius looked down at her, surprised.

“How do you mean, Miss Lovegood?” 

“I just asked because the bishop who’s been taking care of Marshmallow, my owl, and Harry Potter’s owl, Phineas… His name isn’t Alvarez. She was badly hurt, you know, by the people who killed my dad, and the Master-Adept was kind enough to make the arrangements to take her down to Castelobruxo, because some of their healers there are trained just to work with magical animals. And the one in charge of her is their bishop, though he says he works with everybody, whether they’re animals or Magical or not. He wrote me and Mummy to tell us she’d arrived safely, and I wrote him back and we’ve been sending letters since, almost every day. It doesn’t take long even if he is in Brazil because Mummy works at Hogwarts, and she sends everything through the ISEP floo-post; it’s still active there, even if Castelobruxo hasn’t had any ISEP students in from anywhere since 1973.  He’s offered to arrange her a job too, next year if she wants it, working at Castelobruxo as a Charms professor. We’ve talked about it, and we think we’re going to go. The jungle seems as if it must be quite wonderful, really, with all the different animals and things.”

“It is,” Lucius said, quite unbalanced. “How could the bishop offer your mother a job at the school?”

“He lives there,” she said matter-of-factly. “Loads of people who aren’t students do. Thousands of them right now, though I expect they’ll be going home now that the lethifolds are all dead.”

“Erhm. What?”

“We talked about it, when he sent me some photos. They expanded the grounds of the school in 1986, in the last five years before the cycle was due to start again. It’s a town now, like Hogsmeade but quite a bit bigger, with shops and pubs and a primary school and a portkey hub, and a little branch office set up by Gringotts’ and everything. There are loads of Magical families there, and the families of the Nomaji-born too. The adults port out to work across the continent, of course, but he said that with all the extra people who were being eaten because the lethifolds were so close to having their babies, it was just safer to keep the Magical populations of the places that they were losing the most all together in the one place.”

“What do you mean, Castelobruxo hasn’t had any ISEP students since 1973?” Narcissa asked, puzzled, as Lucius tried valiantly to absorb all that.  

“That’s when they took it off the Exchange Program,” Luna explained. “Only lethifolds do eat extra people, you see, starting five years before they get pregnant, till they get pregnant, and five years before they have their babies again, thirteen years later.  And the bishop said that they knew through some old records that his Order found, that they were going to get pregnant somewhere between 1975 and 1980, so they cancelled the ISEP program to Brazil to protect people from Away, and their government made sure all of the students who applied there thought they applied somewhere else instead. So nobody from Away ever knew it wasn’t really an option anymore. It all seems a bit dodgy to me, really, and I told the bishop that too, and he said yes, it was, but it’s not going to happen anymore, ever. Their new President will make sure of _that._ I’ve written to her too; she’s a good friend of his. Have you met her yet?”

“Erhm. No, I do not…” Lucius looked quite bewildered. “I do not think so? It has been a very busy month, and I have been quite preoccupied with the clean-up here. International relations and renewing international diplomatic ties are not booked in till after the holidays.”

"Ah,” she said. Everyone watched, fascinated. “Well, you probably have heard of her anyway. Most people have, if they like Quidditch at all. She used to be the Captain of the Tarapoto Tree-Trimmers till she had a baby and retired to become a lawyer. She played Beater, and says that the skills will be very useful now that she’s in charge of the government, specially once they sue the ICW for all the horrid things they’ve done to the people in her part of the world. She knows _you_ , did you know, from when you were at Castelobruxo in your ISEP year? She asked me if we’d ever met, and I said no, but I do know the Master-Adept since he saved my life and is my best friend’s brother-in-law now. She sent me a letter  to pass onto him, and one from the bishop too. That must have been when they invited him for brunch.”

“She asked about…” Lucius held his head. “I am so sorry, Miss Lovegood. I am very confused. What is the name of the new President again?” 

“ _Senhora Presidente_ Carmen Bianca Lopez de Garcia,” the pale-eyed little girl pronounced carefully. “She has a daughter too, and four boys.  She said she named her daughter after you, partly anyway. She’s Anna-Luisa Sylvia Lopez de Garcia. She’s fifteen, quite a bit older than me, but just lovely. She’s an Animagus like Moony and Uncle Sirius, and her parents are too. She says most people in Brazil are. She just Changed last week; she was very excited; she’s a bird like her mum, though a different kind. Her mum’s an Amazonian Royal Flycatcher, and she’s a Spix’s Macaw. They’re really, really rare. Extinct almost, and very pretty, _I_ think. Her dad’s a round-eared pygmy bat. She joked about that, her mum’s a Beater, and that makes him a Beater’s bat.”

Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other, stunned.

“That makes no sense,” he said blankly. “No sense at all, Niss. If the girl is fifteen, she was born in 1976. Carmen should not have remembered me at all then! She should not remember me now!”

“You _do_ know her!” Luna was delighted. “Only she wasn’t sure you’d remember her. She’ll be so glad! She liked you very much, she said, even if you were very annoying at times.”

“She is not one to talk,’ the Minister of Magic muttered, then, collecting himself... “As we were. As I recall, Miss Lovegood, Brazil does have more than one bishop, though the Order of the Magicals of the Society of Jesus, which is the organization of Warders that the Master-Adept was referring to, has only one. The bishop when I was there was called Jorge-Henrique Alvarez, but he was quite old, so I suppose it is possible he has been replaced. What is the name of the man who has been writing to you?”

“Silva. Antonio-Maria Silva, MSJ. That’s how he signs his letters. He says the MSJ stands for Magicals of the Society of Jesus, so he’d definitely be the one who…” She looked quite alarmed as Lucius literally staggered. Charlie and Narcissa caught him, and eased him down to a Summoned chair.

"Breathe, Lucius,” Narcissa ordered. “Breathe. Shh. One of you get him some water, now! LUCIUS! BREATHE!”

“It is impossible,” he whispered. “It is impossible. He is _dead!_ I _felt_ it, I… The link lasted three months, perhaps, after I returned - the echoes of it anyway, but it faded, and … It is _impossible!_ And Lawrence… he’s gotten a _letter_ from him? He _knows_ he’s alive, he _has_ known, and he hasn’t told me? Why wouldn’t he tell me?"

“I don’t know,” his wife said grimly. “But we’re going to find out, right now.” Her mouth set as she strode to the reservation counter. “I want a portkey for two to Castelobruxo School in Brazil, immediately. Minister and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, Priority One. Charlie, may Draco stay with you while we’re away?”

“Course, love,” he said immediately. “Course. Don’t you worry about a thing. You just go and get your answers, and, oh yeah. One more thing. If you meet up with Dash there and he hasn’t got a damned good explanation for all of this, you may tell him that I _do_ plan to turn him over my knee once he’s back.”

“Stand in line,” she said grimly again, and turned back to the official. “Well?”

“It’s a multi-stage trip, ma’am,” the official reported, shuffling paper rapidly.  “We can set you up with the first four keys within the hour: London to Nantes to Lisbon to Sierra Leone, but the intercontinental jump from Sierra Leone to Guyana has to be booked locally this close to the Solstice, as do the last two jumps to Manaus and Castelobruxo. They do have to take things like the local weather into account, and what with all of the massive magical surges that are resulting now because of the cleared world-node in Brazil, the ley paths and ley-lines throughout the Lower Americas are especially erratic. The global advisories there are recommending that travelers postpone all strictly unnecessary trips there till the 22nd.”

“So noted. DOBBY!”

“Yes, Mistress Niss?” Dobby popped in smartly. “What may Dobby be doing for you?”

“Master Lucius and I are going to Brazil. We likely won’t be coming back before it’s time to catch the portkey to New York, so we’ll make our own way from there. Please pack up everything we anticipate needing for the week abroad, and bring it with you when you catch the portkey over with the contingent from Hogwarts.”

Dobby saluted and cracked out.  

 

 

 


	21. Sunday Morning (1): Between Two Waves of the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue (Part One of Two)
> 
> Please don't shoot me...

 

**Georgetown, Guyana**

**December 21st, 1991**

**Dawn**

The coastal city of Georgetown burned with light: great soft swathes of pale flame visible only to the Magical eye. Lucius Malfoy stood on the sidewalk just outside the hotel lobby, hands loose and empty by his sides, and watched, head slightly tilted and face turned to the west... In the distance, behind him, was the tight, purse-lipped line of the Atlantic Ocean. Before him lay the dark velvety maw of the jungle, and Manaus, and his memories.

His hair moved slightly in the tropical breeze, and his light cotton clothes -shirt, trousers and sandals, transfigured from his Ministerial suit and robes - felt conversely and oddly heavy, as if weighted down by dank sand, or the past.

Light footsteps sounded, and Narcissa appeared at his side. Her own winter gown and robes had been transfigured into a light ankle-length shift of pale blue, with a matching sleeveless robe and strapped sandals in sea-foam green. Her gold hair shimmered in the light. Lucius had  nearly fallen off the bed last night when she’d appeared from the washroom, the shining silken sheet now a bare chin-length bob.

“What on _earth_ …”

His wife said nothing, just leaned in to kiss him slowly, her hand coming up to touch his lean cheek.

“Niss.” He pulled back. “Why?”

“Solstice night,” she said. “Longest night of the year. I can’t cut it short; no one can, so I’m compensating.”

“We’re in the southern hemisphere. That makes it the Summer Solstice, not winter, and therefore the shortest.”

“Don’t be pedantic,” she said, but it was affectionate. “It’s been a long day, then, any way you look at it.”

“Mm.” He leaned in to kiss her again. The shortened strands brushed his own chin. They tickled, rather. “Do you like it?” he said dubiously as he pulled back. She laughed.

“Only you, my lovely,” she said. “Would ask me if _I_ liked it, instead of asking yourself whether _you_ do.” She touched the bracelet around his wrist, a simple flattened circle of wood inked delicately all around with runes, all rotating in a constant circle. They both wore them; they had been handed off by the intercontinental customs officer upon their arrival in South America the day, or rather the extremely late evening, before... Lucius had turned his in his fingers in wonder and sorrow, and in remembrance again.

“What are they?” Narcissa had inquired of the official as she slipped hers on. It complemented the three serpentine bangles nicely.

“Warding bracelets.” The official reached out with his wand.  The bracelet flared and lit softly, surrounding her in a brilliant wash of light. Even as they watched, their eyes accommodated in accordance with the secondary, accompanying charm, and the light dimmed, or rather became irrelevant on that purely visual level. “Inscribed with what we call the Luz Sequence. We all wear them, all of the Magicals in the Lower Americas and the Islands. The Nomaji cannot see the light at all, but lethifolds do. It does not repel them entirely, particularly not if they are as hungry as they have been in recent years, but they have proved most effective in reducing our losses. You will see the inscription in walls and doorways and sign posts in all the villages and cities, Magical and non-Magical alike, and we have an entire governmental division dedicated to reinscribing them as necessary, where necessary. We call them the Lamplighters.”

Lucius’ memory tilted dizzily at that, not toward the past at Castelobruxo, but to England and his nursery, and his mother squidged comfortably beside him on his bed as they both slurped happily away at huge mugs of cream-laden, wincingly over-sweet cocoa and read from a book that had its own brand of magic... It was called ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses’, by Robert Louis Stevenson, and, like a good three-quarters of his favourites, only appeared as a literary option when Abraxas was out of the Manor for the evening.

 _My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky;_  
_It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by;_  
_For every night at tea-time and before you take your seat,_  
_With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street._  
  
_Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea,_  
_And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be;_  
_But I, when I am stronger and can choose what I’m to do,_  
_Oh Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you!_  
  
_For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door,_  
_And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more;_  
_And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light,_  
_O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him tonight!_

  
“What of now?” Narcissa was saying. “Now that the lethifolds are gone?”

“They will never be gone,” the official said flatly. “Not till the last of us who have ever lost one we love has gone to God, _Senhora_. Even then, our children and grandchildren will be charged with remembering them always, till our beautiful Jesus Himself burns away all memories of our collective pain and agony at the end and the beginning of all things.”

She turned the bracelet on her wrist again.  “And must we return them when we leave?”

“Why would you want to keep them?”

“Because there are none before you and none after you who can replace any of you,” Narcissa Black Malfoy said. “And I would not forget that, though I do not know your names.”

The custom official’s smile at _that_ was rather excruciatingly polite.

“I do not mean to be rude,” Lucius intervened tactfully. “But it was a quite distressing trip, in the gastric context. Would you mind pointing me to the closest loo, before we continue with the paperwork?”

" _Sim,_ of course, _Senhor Ministro_.” The official pointed hastily. When he returned, the official’s expression was appropriately bland again. Narcissa, on the other hand, was looking decidedly put out.

“I am so sorry, _Senhor Ministro,_ ” the official addressed him. He did not even attempt to sound sincere this time. “We have received word that all portkey and floo services across South America have been suspended till dawn of the 21st. No exceptions. We will have to wait on your portkeys to Manaus and Castelobruxo till then; may we recommend a hotel in the meantime?”

“All of them?”

“ _Sim. Senhora Presidente_ Lopez de Garcia of Brazil has just issued the statement. The ley-lines all throughout the Lower Americas are now surging to the point where she, through the offices of the Bishop of the Magicals of the  Society of Jesus, is recommending that all individuals in all countries in the lower half of the Western hemisphere refrain from using magic altogether till the Solstice is officially over, unless it is for absolutely vital reasons.”

Lucius had uttered a very bad word at that. It was immediately followed by several more.

“A recommendation to a hotel would be lovely,” Narcissa said prudently. “I don’t suppose the Bishop left us a message? Only, we have a friend at Hogwarts who forwarded a letter to him, for us, immediately after we left for Nantes.”

“I am afraid not, _Senhora._ He may not have received it. I have heard that the entire Order has been in the field for most of this week, working on the Master-Adept’s direction over the world-node.”

“Has he arrived?” Lucius asked. “The Master-Adept, I mean?”

“I do not know, _Senhor Ministro._ He will not be coming through Georgetown, but directly to the world-node again, and the exact moment of arrival is a little tricky to predict, _sim?_ He will be able to accommodate somewhat with his allocated time turner, but even so.”

“His… _What?_ ”

“International Warders travel a great deal across time zones at these times of the year, and everything must be precisely aligned, temporally speaking. The ICW, therefore, provides each of them with one for the three day period surrounding each Solstice.”

“Hotel?” Narcissa said hastily as her husband digested _that_ … It was not appearing to sit very well, and she was fairly certain that that much, at least, could not be attributed to the truly horrific effects of the magically-enhanced surges of the ley-lines dictating  the global portkey routes. The customs official waved… A short, slim man appeared, bowing. He looked, Lucius thought, somewhat familiar, but he was distracted again by another unfortunate incoming surge. He paused, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. 

“This way, _Senhor Ministro_ ,” the driver murmured, once his charge had done driving back (at least for the moment), what was now feeling the eternal, _in_ ternal night. “ _Senhora,_ if you would come with me? It is not far, I promise.”

They’d followed him outside into the confines of the provided car. 

“You have no luggage?” he asked, puzzled, looking around as they settled themselves. “Or entourage?”

“No,” Narcissa said. “As we came here on a personal matter, we didn’t feel it appropriate to risk staff members, and any luggage likely wouldn’t have made it either. Or rather, it would have just regurgitated all of the contents of its own insides out somewhere over the ocean, during that last jump. Alright then, my lovely?”

“No,” her lovely said, and plaintively... “How the bloody buggering _hell_ could you manage all that that without twitching so much as an eyelash?”

“I’m a Black, darling. We’re all raised with the understanding that it’s tacky to vomit in the face of adversity. We much prefer to induce the vomiting, _as_ the adversity.”

“I hate you,” her husband informed her. She patted his knee.

"No you don’t,” she said, and as his radiating light turned more than a bit green again, hauled the last of the anti-emetics she’d packed out of her handbag and passed it off. “Now, now. Not all over the upholstery, dear. Not when we’re not allowed to Vanish anything for another thirty hours.”

“Ready?” she asked him those thirty hours later as she slipped her hand in his, on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

“No,” Lucius said. “I don’t want to go back to Manaus, Niss. Even if it is just for thirty minutes, while we wait for the connection.”

Narcissa turned, and hugged him at that. Hard.

“I’ll be with you,” she promised. “Always.”

“Even unto the end of the world?"

She reached up and touched the little gold cross between his collarbones… He’d very nearly wept, when, the day following the Scourge, she’d stood beside him for their first public appearance as Minister and Associated wearing the identical piece of jewelry, subtly, but unapologetically, at her own throat. When the first of the newsies had thrown the obvious question their way, she’d held her husband's hand as she was holding it now, and spoken clearly, simply and again, unapologetically.

“The world ended last night,” she said. “Again. And again… We will, all of us, rise. Together. The alternative is neither acceptable or of the Acceptable. And Malfoy, as does England and Great Britain, stands with the Acceptable.”  She’d lifted her chin. ‘Black: _Toujours Pur._ ‘Always Pure.’ Malfoy, _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._ ‘Purity will always conquer.’  We limit ourselves with the traditional interpretations. We reduce ourselves, and not just genetically, to that which can never be sustained while remaining good and true and beautiful. Today… today, officially… We redefine ourselves and our mottoes, not by blood, but by that which facilitates blood’s production and progress: our hearts. And not just through our stated beliefs there either, but through our willingness to actively model and promote, not the Greater Good, but the Greatest Good - uncompromising and unconditional love.”

The car pulled up to the curb. The driver smiled at them.

“We are in good time,” he said.

“Is everyone well?” Lucius asked anxiously. “None of the Warders are hurt, or were hurt, were they?”

 _“Nao, nao,”_ the driver reassured him. “My wife tells me that all is well, and all are well. She sends her regards, Senhor Malfoy, and says that she is very much looking forward to meeting your angel.”

“Uh?”

“My wife. _Se_ _nhora Presidente_ Carmen Lopez de Garcia. I am the Garcia.”

And Lucius’ eyes grew wide as that niggling sense of the familiar renewed itself, and burst open.

“Tomas Garcia?” he said incredulously.  “You are Tomas Garcia? Ram… Miguel’s friend, from your first year at Castelobruxo?"

“You remember me!” He looked most pleased. “My wife will be most annoyed. We two never formally met, after all, before I was sent to the Mind Healers at the seminary to recover that September, and Bishop Silva wagered one hundred galleons with my Carmenzinha that you would, even so.” He shifted gears smoothly. “She, in turn, now owes me one more child.”

“I am sorry?”

“We have four sons. Hector, Diego, Adalberto and Miguelzinho. I would like one more, a daughter, perhaps.”

Lucius’ brow wrinkled. “Do you not already have one of those?” he asked. “I had heard…”

"Ah. _Sim,_ of course, Anna-Luisa. She is the jewel of my heart, but not of my collection, so to speak. Her papa is very possessive there, and has never permitted me to adopt her, even though I have been married to her mama since before she was born. And my own mama is being quite loud lately on how she  would like a granddaughter. I had three sisters, but they were all lost in the summer of 1973, when the shadows first rose up to glut in preparation for the impregnation cycle in 1978.”

“I am so sorry,” Lucius said. “If you tell me their names, I will remember them.”

The driver cast him a small smile over his shoulder.

“They were Anna, Isabella and Gia,” he said. “And for the record, I am not quite so much a pig as that. I am perfectly willing to adopt a child; we have a number of orphans, both Magical and Nomaji, fostered by families at _Esconderijo do Altissimo_ , but I have told Carmen that if she wishes to exercise that option, we had best move quickly, before they _are_ all adopted. None stay orphaned for more than a month after coming to us, and now that the Long Night is over, there will not be, our beautiful Jesus willing, any more coming in.”

 _“Esconderijo do Altissimo?_ ” Narcissa inquired.

“It is the village that was constructed around Castelobruxo,” Tomas Garcia explained. “In 1986. It translates as ‘Shelter of the Most High’, from the psalm, _sim?_ ”

 _Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High,_ he recited.

_will rest in the shadow of the Almighty._

_I will say of the_ _Lord_ _, “He is my refuge and my fortress,_

_my God, in whom I trust.”_

 

_Surely He will save you_

_from the fowler’s snare_

_and from the deadly pestilence._

_He will cover you with His feathers,_

_and under His wings you will find refuge;_

_His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart._

 

_You will not fear the terror of night,_

_nor the arrow that flies by day,_

_nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,_

_nor the plague that destroys at midday_

_You will only observe with your eyes_

_and see the punishment of the wicked._

 

 _If you say, “The_ _Lord_ _is my refuge,”_

_and you make the Most High your dwelling,_

_no harm will overtake you,_

_no disaster will come near your tent._

_For He will command his angels concerning you_

_to guard you in all your ways;_

_they will lift you up in their hands,_

_so that you will not strike your foot against a stone._

_You will tread on the lion and the cobra;_

_you will trample the great lion and the serpent._

 

 _“Because he loves Me,” says the_ _Lord_ _, “I will rescue him;_

_I will protect him, for he acknowledges My name._

_He will call on Me, and I will answer him;_

_I will be with him in trouble,_

_I will deliver him and honour him._

_With long life I will satisfy him_

_and show him My salvation.”_

 

“That’s lovely,” Narcissa said. ”Though I have to ask… I understand the symbolism inherent in the snake, even if I do think it’s a bit much to paint them all with the same brush, but what has He got against lions?”

“Not all lions are good, _Senhora,_ if your point follows universally. Some are merely and aggressively and perpetually hungry, and thus inclined to make dubious moral choices.”

He pulled up to the curb before the complex that housed the local offices of International and Intercontinental Magical Transportation and slipped out, coming around to open their doors.

“I will accompany you,” he said, and waved. A valet approached and accepted the keys. “To your departure gate.” He led them through, through a small side corridor and up a flight of stairs. “Though it is not a gate; but a private key. The gates will not open again till this afternoon, so we have made other arrangements. The ley-lines have settled, but it will still be inadvisable to transport passengers more than two at a time, and there are your personal security issues aside. It was one thing when you left, you were in a hurry, we understand, but now that you are officially here, the diplomatic protocols must be followed, mm?” He waved them into a small, bright room. There were chairs, and an engraved runic circle on the floor with a small table inside it.  On it was a single bright feather. “You have not eaten breakfast? Excellent. You are not crossing the oceans, but it is still a more than reasonable distance to Manaus, as you know, _Senhor Ministro._ ”

“It has never been far at all, as I have remembered it.” Lucius stepped into the circle. Narcissa stepped beside him, shaking back her shortened hair and settling her slim shoulders.

“You will each touch the portkey only,” Tomas directed. “ _Nao_ , do not hold hands. Stand on either side of the table; that is it, and each of you touch one end of the feather. It will balance the power distribution as you jump. You are ready?”

“We are,” Narcissa said, after a moment, and gently -  “All will be well, my lovely. Trust me.”

“And you’ll be with me?” Lucius couldn’t help but say. She looked at him at that, and withdrew her reaching hand, and came around the table and stood on her toes and took his pale face in her hands and pulled him down and kissed him.

“Even unto the end of the world,” she said, as he had before. “And then… There…  We’ll meet at the door and go through together.”

He wrapped her up, at that, hard. She kissed his chin, and stepped back, around to the far side of the table.

“On three,” Tomas Garcia said. “One… Two… Three!”

There was a bright flash. When the glare cleared, Narcissa was standing alone in the circle. The feather was gone.  She pushed her hair back, and rubbed her eyes. Tomas smiled at her understandingly.

“He is safe,” he reassured her. “He is not alone. The Master-Adept is waiting for him. He is the first thing that he will see when his vision clears.”

“I’m not sure I find that reassuring,” Narcissa said. “All things considered.”

“ _Sim,_ I know. But it is the best way. There are those things that must be explained before he sees Bishop Silva again, and they will need their privacy. And it would not be good for him to go back to Manaus, even for a few minutes. It would, I think… Be very, very bad.”

“He is going to be quite put out,” she said. “When he realizes we were all in on it. Well, he might not be put out at Luna, but…”

Tomas laughed. “She is a wonder, that one,” he said fondly. “Carmenzinha utterly adores her, and as for Anna-Luisa…  She is ready to adopt her herself, and she is only fifteen. It is why she instructed the Bishop to offer her mother a position at the school, so she will be sure to come here next September herself, and she may have a little sister there that she does not have to wait on growing up.”

A second bright feather appeared. Narcissa braced herself.

"It will take you straight to the Headmistress’ office,” Tomas said. “At Castelobruxo. She and Carmen and the Bishop and Anna-Luisa will all be waiting for you there, and will answer all of the questions that you may yet have, before you meet with your husband and the Master-Adept again.”

“What of you?”

“I will be along shortly,” he reassured her.  “I have several more secured passengers to escort through first.”

She nodded. He nodded back

“On three,” he said. Narcissa reached out. Her eyes closed just as her fingertips brushed the soft fringe of the feather.

The world tilted, and spun, and popped.


	22. Sunday Morning (2): The Fire and the Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sharing this ride with me. Your comments (hopeful look!) and enthusiasm and love mean more than you will ever know.
> 
> Next up, Little Harry and Neville!
> 
>  
> 
> Esconderijo do Altissimo - Shelter of the Most High
> 
> Mentira- bullshit
> 
> Dom/Dona - an extremely respectful term of address, ranking upward from ‘Senhor/Senhora’ - always used in tandem with the first name.
> 
> Lourenço - Portuguese equivalent to Lawrence.

**Esconderijo do Altíssimo**

**Castelobruxo School**

 

**December 21, 1991**

**Sunrise**

 

The completely unexpected wave of heat and humidity that enveloped Lucius as he was deposited at his final destination was so thick and miasmic and sudden that he very nearly choked on it. He doubled over, gagging and gasping for breath, blinking repeatedly as he tried to focus through the sweat that dripped and stung his eyes. Even as he did so, there was a slight hum, and the temperature around him dropped so quickly he staggered. The sweat pouring off of him and soaking his clothes dried instantly.

Slowly, slowly, he straightened. He was standing on a moss-covered stone floor in what looked like a gazebo, though it was more of a hollowed, room-shaped  tangle of ivy, trumpet flowers and fruit vines. Shallow stone steps led down from four arching cathedral-styled exits to the velvety emerald floor of a large circular clearing. A series of small paths branched off of the clearing as spokes from a wheel, each narrowing  into a tunnel cut through the massive, thick wall of vine and foliage. The grass in the clearing itself was neatly trimmed and cleared of all obstacles, and all around the perimeter were hewn and polished wooden benches.

Through the open weave of the gazebo roof Lucius could see, not sky, but jungle canopy, so tightly tangled it seemed woven.  Shafts of pale light rained all around from every angle, absorbing and staining all within eyeshot in a constantly shifting wash of deep and vibrant colour. The overall impression was as if he was resting within the heart of some gigantic, stained-glass orchid.

“This,” he said aloud, “is not Manaus.”

“Luke?”

Lucius turned. A man was standing at the bottom of the steps directly before him. His light brown hair was soft and clean, (though the cowlick looked a bit tired) and his tan cargo shorts and the dark red t-shirt that clung to his long, muscled torso in place of the undershirt he’d been wearing the last time Lucius had seen him looked crisp and starched. The barbell in his left eyebrow had changed too; the upper jewel was now a ruby, and the lower a diamond, and plain brown walking sandals adorned his feet. He wore no broom or wand holsters, though the wands, at least, were yet visible: one sticking out of each hip pocket. 

“Lawrence? Where are we?”

“Just outside _Esconderijo do Altissimo._ It’s the village surrounding Castelobrux…”

Before he could finish, Lucius stiffened, and hurled himself bodily off the gazebo into the bushes. Several long, loud and excruciatingly unpleasant moments later, he collapsed on his side on the velvety grass, breathing hard.  Ren hunkered beside him, spelling him clean and rubbing his shoulder as he uncorked a small vial of pale yellow liquid.

“Here,” he said, holding it to the taller man’s lips.  “Drink this. It’ll help, I promise.’

Lucius swallowed the potion (it tasted of Nomaji gumdrops) and accepted the bottle of chilled water retrieved from a random pocket. The nausea settled somewhat, and the accompanying pounding headache receded. He drank the water slowly, breathing deeply between each sip.

“Alright then?” the Warder inquired, settling cross-legged beside him.

“Not particularly, no. Why am I here instead of…” He vaulted up abruptly, head spinning sickeningly as he looked around, panicked. “Niss! Where’s Niss? NISS!” He tried to take a step; Ren sprang up and caught him as he staggered.  “No. NO! Let me _go!_ I have to find her; she came through with me but she’s not here, we have to find her, we...”

“Shhh. Easy now. She’s fine, Luke. Niss is just fine. She’s up at the school,” Ren soothed. “Right past the end of that path there. She’s fine. She’s fine. Breathe for me, honey boy. Shhh. Shhh. Just… Breathe. She’s fine; Antonio just wanted to have a few words with her before we all meet up, just like I wanted to see you. Here. Here, let’s just sit on this bench here, alright? Nice bench. Good bench. That’s it.  In… Out…”

The panic, if not his agitation, receded, and Lucius’ breathing eased. “I don’t understand,” he said plaintively. “Why aren’t we in Manaus?”

“Because they’ve got the permanent intra-continental portkey hub here now.” Ren gestured around. For the first time, Lucius processed the presence of  discreet signposts at the end of each of the off-shooting paths. He squinted a bit at the closest, just managing to make out the words QUITO/BOGATA/CARACAS. “They needed one, yeah,  because of all of the people who live and work here and port in and out and all over South and Central America every day, but the ley path that runs from here through Georgetown has a tendency to sprout tributaries in random directions when it’s feeling overstressed, so it’s not really suited to power a mass-transit portkey route. _That_ means that commuters headed to coastal Guyana do usually have to switch trains in Manaus, but exceptions can be made on the situational basis for small parties. As soon as we confirmed that you’d left London, Carmen sent Tomas in to make the necessary arrangements to bring you and Narcissa here directly.”

“Once you confirmed… What? You knew we were… What is going _on?_ No.” He held up a forestalling hand. “Never mind that. First things first. How long have you known Padre Silva is alive?” 

Ren dug into his pocket again, retrieving two more bottles of chilled water and untwisting the cap off of both before passing one over.

“Since the afternoon we all had tea,” he said as Lucius sipped, more-or-less automatically.  “When I checked out the training lock on your hand while assessing the Dark Mark. You told me that the man who installed it was dead, but the type of wards involved should have dissolved if the one who had set it had passed, so that the trainee wouldn’t be left permanently defenseless. Yours were still as strong as ever, which led me to the obvious conclusion - you were lying, or rather weren’t inclined to share the whole story.  And as we’d just met and everyone deserves their privacy anyway, I was going to leave it there, but when we were all linked through the Horntails I did get the whole story, and realized that you weren’t holding back at all. You truly believed Silva had passed, because your mutual empathetic link had dissolved after your return when you were sixteen.”

“But… Why didn’t you just tell me then?”

“Because I wanted to know why a man possessed of a secondary nature so completely defined by healing and the compulsion to reduce pain would  let his heart, of all people, go twenty years thinking he was dead,” the Warder said bluntly. “I reckoned he must have some sort of good explanation, but I wanted to hear it myself first so that if I wasn’t personally satisfied I’d have a chance to kick his feathery arse before you did meet up with him again and forgave him on cardiac principle.”

“Oh.” For whatever reason, it actually seemed a reasonable explanation. A rational one, even, and despite his confusion and dismay, an overwhelming wave of affection for the man sitting beside him overtook Lucius at that.

“Yeah, ‘oh’. So we had the ferals to deal with first, but as soon as we were done with - as _soon_ as we were done with - I called Gus Richards. That was the floo-call I was making in the reception room at the Manor, remember, right before we left to hold the first press conference? Silva had mentioned in your memories that they’d met while Gus was on his ISEP year, and that he was his contact at the International School of Warding.  And I asked him if they were still in contact, and he said yes, and gave me his private floo number. I called him later that night, when I had the proper time. And once we’d cleared everything up… Don’t hit me for it… That was when I decided to let Niss and Charlie in on what was going on.”

Lucius promptly fumbled the water he was holding. It splashed all over him. He ignored it as he physically turned to face the man beside him, jaw dropped: unbelieving, indignant and affronted all. Ren winced.

“I know, I know. I won’t even say it seemed like a good idea at the time, because it really, really didn’t, but I wanted - no, _needed_ \- their opinion on the best way to tell you, and Niss is your wife, and was there from the beginning, so really, she was the best one to say what would be best for you. And she said to wait till the Solstice; she said you had enough to think about in the meantime, and needed the absolute focus. Great Britain needed you to have absolute focus, and  that it was the earliest you’d be able to get away anyway. Which was all absolutely true, and once Charlie got the Horntails and their bloody melodramatic instincts under control, he agreed. Oh, and Silva couldn’t tell us how either of you would react when your active bond re-established itself, so we didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be on the public stage when it happened. So we set things up to bring you here, and when we needed other people to help us facilitate things, we told them that we were wanting to bring you back to Castelobruxo for a surprise reunion with all the people you’d known here, including your advisor that you’d thought had died too, along with your friend, but hadn’t, before heading out to New York. Pan and Luna were absolutely brilliant there, and Andie Tonks and Amelia Bones too. They’ll be covering for you - are covering for you - while you’re here.”

“The _active_ bond? Did he turn it off somehow?” Lucius clutched his hair, around the bottle he yet held in his hand. “What explanation did he give you?”

“He… ” Ren paused. “Alright. I’ll tell you the whole story, but we’ll have to start at the beginning, on that day twenty one years ago when you and Antonio first went to see Bishop Alvarez.”

“Bishop… Is he still alive?”

“He is. Retired, inasmuch as anyone in his field retires, though that’s shot now. He’s spent the last month  marshaling all of the Mind Healers available to help those who need it in the aftermath of the Long Night - that would be pretty much everybody -  so he can’t be here, but he sends his love, and hopes to catch up with you soon.”

"I’ll catch up with _you_ soon,” the taller man said grimly. “If you do not start _explaining_ soon.”

“You were the one who diverted,” Ren pointed out mildly, but settled again anyway. "First things first,” he began. “I know you’re not allowed talk specifically on the details of parts of this next bit, that he warned you that there would be consequences, dire consequences, if you ever did, so I just want you to listen, okay? There are ways to get around the restrictions placed on you, but until we can arrange them, just… Listen. And if you do want to ask questions or make a comment, which I know you will, choose your words really carefully so that you’re responding to what I’m saying, not introducing new information.”

Lucius nodded.

“When you showed me your memories," Ren said. "Through the Horntails’ link, of Castelobruxo and Ramone, and that night in Manaus..."

He stopped.

"Yes?"

"I know a lot about lethifolds," the former Harry Potter said. "How they work, and how they don't. Their nature. When I watched your memories..." He pushed his light brown hair back, and blew out his breath. "I’m not trying to hurt you with this, alright? I just need to confirm it. To make sure that we’re clear on what happened, exactly. The lethifold was coming at you.  Pushing you back toward the loo. Ramone threw himself on the lethifold, knocking it flat, then stood and wrapped it around himself. It clung to him, just as you Changed for the first time, and just as the wards fell. It, and he, fell back out the front of the building. You fell too, or rather jumped, as a spider, and Changed back on landing in the street. You Summoned your wands, and saw the leth slink away. And Ramone was gone. Is that right?”

There was a long, long pause.

"Yes," Lucius said tonelessly. Ren pressed his fingers to his eyes, then lowered them.

"When Bishop Alvarez set your internal Fidelius - the _Domo Separata_ wards," he said precisely. "He told you how they worked - to the point. What he _didn’t_ tell you that there are two steps involved in sealing the deal there. The first step is the magical implantation of the anchor memory. That sets the physical wards.  The second step involves incorporating an ongoing magical power supply to fuel the ongoing creation of the alternate memories that other people would see if they were to go poking on the particular subjects. And because there is such a great, great deal of power involved in building a generator capable of fueling an entire lifetime’s worth of memories, the only thing that could cover the costs would be  an offered life… Or more precisely, a death.”

“I beg your _pardon?”_

“Shhh. No talking. A death, yes, but not a murder. The ritual isn’t powered by blood; as part of the rites of Christian ordination, it’s powered by the death of self, to God.  And it has to be complete and utter and absolute."

"If you are referring to Ramone’s death… It was complete. Very complete and utterly absolute."

"No. Death of  _self_ , Luke. To God, and to the service of God.  A life sacrifice, but one with no blood or proxy involved. You have to take into account that _Domo Separata_ is a Christian spell, designed by Christians, for Christians, and that the very definitions of death and sacrifice that Magical Christians work with when crafting and performing magic just wouldn’t be-  aren’t - the same as those embraced by secular Magicals.”

“I do not understand,” he said bluntly.

“Okay. Okay.” Ren collected himself. “Context. The vast majority of cultures, historically speaking and regardless of their religion, have, at one point or another in their histories, believed that divine mercy and forgiveness of sins comes with a price tag. As they were seeking to redefine their future, their lives - to reset the parameters of their future in their favour -  a proxy offering of blood was considered the standard and universal element in all associated rituals. Propitiation: an exchange, right; life for life, and blood embodies life. Those definitions and parameters changed for all time at the defining point in time, though, from the Christian  point of view - at that point in time where Jesus was born, and lived among us. With me so far?”

Lucius nodded cautiously.

“After Jesus died and was resurrected,” Ren continued. “Those people and cultures that adopted Christianity as their faith adopted a new perspective on the particular subject matter. They believed that that rule, if it was indeed, or ever had been a rule, was rendered out of date - that Christ’s blood sacrifice and death on the Cross had replaced the necessity for all others, in perpetuity. As God doesn’t love us because He died for us, but died for us because He loves us… They believed, and believe, that from that  point on, divine mercy wasn’t something that one had to earn or pay for, but a gift of grace, straight from the Source. And it was a perspective that changed everything for everyone in the Magical world, religious or not, because it coincided, or not, with the advent of a truly radical advance in magical understanding - the understanding that power: real power, power that doesn’t just affect things temporarily, but changes things, and lives, and the future, _permanently_ \- comes not from a place of bargaining or exchange, or the invocation of magical elements and tangibles, but from active, and acted-upon, _intent._ Arrogant, selfish and evil intentions and their associated actions engender magically Dark results; humble, self-effacing and pure intentions and their associated actions engender those of the Light.”

“Are you a Christian?” Lucius asked curiously, diverted temporarily again. “I did not see any direct indications through the link, but you certainly seem to know a great deal on the subject.”

“No. I mean, I definitely believe in some sort of higher, driving, pro-active and probably benevolent force - it’s really hard not to, after everything I, and we, have been through - but no, not specifically. I just worked with them a lot. All that time in my world's South America, and the residents there are no more shy about expressing their beliefs than they are here. And there was Mig of course, and his niece Carlotta - she was an apprentice of mine of sorts, inasmuch as I ever had one - and her own son, Tony. He was born the same year as Neil’s Frankie, in 2040,  and became a priest later on. He was my godson, actually, in the secular context.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. You’ll love him when you meet him, if you can work your way round the Boston accent anyway.  Tough as nails; he put himself through seminary singing jazz and blues in the all the nightclubs across Rio, driving a cab and with Nomajic amateur boxing. Priesthood aside, those three things pretty much sum him up.”

"Mm. Alright Go on.”

“Where were we?’

“Intent.”

"Right, right. Well, what it all comes down to, in our context is this. Dark Magicals," Ren said carefully. "Dark Magicals, and Dark creatures... The kind that seek out the kind of power that engenders immortality... They must _steal_ life, Luke. They must _take_ what they need from the unwilling source if it’s to be any good to them at all as a facilitator toward the achievement of their Dark ends. Anything offered up in humility, self-sacrifice and love, anything willingly surrendered on that level, is simply and magically contraindicated. _Domo Separata,_ though, as an ecclesiastical spell - a _Christian_ spell, designed by Christians and reflecting Christian beliefs - incorporates the _opposed_ principles in its design. The magics that power it, however prodigious, must take into account that fundamental Christian premise that God will not require or demand a blood sacrifice because it's already been taken care of. Again and therefore, the offered sacrifice must involve something much deeper and more significant - not death or blood, but that which is all anyone truly has to offer, when it comes right down to it - that which Jesus Himself offered again: the gift _of_ self, freely returned to the One who created us, and Who gifted us with individuality, autonomy and  free will in the first place.”

Lucius’ brow furrowed.

“So you’re saying.” he said cautiously, “that the magical power that rises from the Christian sacrificial comes not from blood or death, but from the pure and unadulterated desire for the good of the other… On the level that one is willing to offer up everything, one’s life included, to preserve and enable that good, _in_ love?”

“Yes. Exactly. The one who sacrifices his or her life for you is surrendering everything on your behalf because they think you’re worth it. Because they think - no, because they _know_ \- that you _matter._ That everyone, and everything matters. The fact that they know that _they_ matter is simply irrelevant in the face of how much they love you. In Christian terms… They die for you in order to bear witness to you on how much _God_ loves you. And thus, in reflection of how they believe that Jesus came to save us… You are saved. Personally, and physically.”

Enlightenment dawned. " _That’s_ where you got your idea for the side-effect spells, for the lethifolds!”

Ren smiled briefly. “Yeah. Mig was explaining it to me one day, and I said ‘so the intent is to save, and yeah, you know you’ll die, but that’s not the point of the sacrifice as it would be with Dark magic; the point is to save someone else? Death is just an unfortunate and accepted side-effect?’ And he said ‘yes, though it can be a very fine line, and Christians do not consider it unfortunate anyway. Death is not the end of things; it is the beginning, so you are not so much dying before your time as you are going through the door a bit early.’ And I thought about that, and thought about it a bit more… And there it was.”

Lucius nodded.

"Anyway,” Ren continued. “That’s how _Domo Separata_ works - if you’re a priest. True priests, you see, upon ordination, _do_ die to self and are reborn to God. It’s both a metaphor and… In magical terms… Not.  There have been a few times though - less than a handful of times in all of recorded history - that the ritual has been used on a layperson. Not all laypeople, though, in that hour of absolute necessity, can say that they do believe in God, so in those instances, the magic is set to accept an alternative payment plan, and the required sacrificial reverts to the standard secular context… A external, proxy life offered toward the end of the protection of the one who is being warded. It’s not Dark magic,” he emphasized. “Because the life _is_ offered, not taken, but it must yet be offered, in order to evoke the kind of power needed to power the particular spell.”

It took more than a moment for Lucius to absorb the implications of that. When he did...

“You are not saying that Ramone’s death was _intentional,_  are you? That the lethifold was placed _intentionally?”_

“No, no, no. He wasn’t involved at all; he knew nothing of the arrangements made for you, but foreknowledge of the ritual isn’t a prerequisite, so the magics didn’t care about that. They just cared that there _was_ a sacrifice at the appropriate time, and that it was voluntary, completely unmanipulated, and freely offered. When Silva first went to  Bishop Alvarez, and explained what you were facing… What the cost would be if you were lost, or your mind left unwarded… Riddle’s name was well known, even then. And when Alvarez realized what Silva was suggesting, that he die for you after you left… he said ‘No, that is not acceptable. Our country and our people need you.’ And he said that he would offer up his own life in Silva’s stead, for you.”

_“What?”_

“He was old,” Ren said. “He considered it a vital necessity on every level. God’s will, even. And after he met you… He had no hesitations. He told Silva that he _would_ be the one to die for you when the time came, immediately after that last memory had set. There was a trigger, you see, that would let him know when it had occurred, and he would have died in that moment. But it didn’t go off, not till literal minutes before you caught your portkey home, and when it did… There was no more need for him to die, so he didn’t. They thought that that meant that the magics indicated that all terms had been met - that  Ramone’s sacrifice had been the one, in the end, that would guard you all of your life, as your soul’s literal shield in the war to come.”

Lucius buried his face in his hands.

“That should have been that,” Ren continued. “But it wasn’t. There was a snag, see? Ramone had offered his life up for you, but as it turned out, the _way_ he died made things more than a bit problematic. Because in the case of death by lethifold, if someone, knowingly and deliberately and out of love, knowing what awaits them, steps in front of another and takes his place... The Dark power that fuels the lethifold rejects that offering.“

“But the seal did set," Lucius said, confused. "If the magics refused his offering and Bishop Alvarez did not die for me, and Padre Silva did not… Who did?”

"No one. _You_ died, Luke," the Warder said exactingly. "You, a layman, and a self-proclaimed agnostic-at-best... In that moment that that lethifold enveloped Ramone, you fulfilled the demands of the ritual in the way that they were originally designed to be fulfilled -  that Catholic priests have fulfilled them for centuries. Everything you were, everything you had been... Was gone. You shattered. And when you reformed, you were a completely different man, reborn and utterly dedicated, as you have been your entire life since, to one thing, and one thing only - serving your people, and your country  and God, _Ramone's God,_ even if you weren't sure you believed in Him, as stated in those words you’ve read to yourself, and said out loud, every day of your life since - “I shall live as a Narnian, even if there be no Narnia.’ The _Domo Separata was_ powered by the sacrifice of a dead man, but it wasn't the dead man you thought it was. It couldn't be, _because that man never died_. The lethifold doesn’t just reject the intentions of the person offering, you see? It rejects the person offering entirely."

_“What?”_

" _Lethifolds steal life_. _They can't absorb, physically or magically, that which is freely given in order to save another_. That is a biological _fact._ Ramone’s sacrifice would have served to power the wards had he offered himself up for you in any other way _but_ by lethifold, but he didn't. And yes, he intended to die for you, but he didn’t, and intention alone wouldn't have been enough for the seal.’

“But I _saw_ it! I saw him die!”

“You saw him tackle the lethifold,” Ren corrected. "You saw him wrap it around himself, and you saw them fall through the wards. You Changed for the first time in that moment, jumped down as a spider, Changed back, Summoned your wands, and saw the thing escape into the night. And you assumed - everyone assumed, because there was no body, that that body had been absorbed. What was Ramone's Animagus form again?"

"Erhm. A poison dart frog?"

"Bit small, yeah? And there was a lot of rubble around too. Hit hard enough, he’d have gone unconscious, just like you did, and even if someone had suspected he might have Changed at the last moment, and might have been lying about in the ruins somewhere… There’s that little restriction.  No matter how powerful the _Accio_ , you just can't Summon a live creature."

Lucius stared, so white he was translucent. He looked as if he might literally pass out.

"It is impossible," he whispered. "It is impossible."

"No," Ren said gently. "No, sweetheart. It isn't. It's the only thing that _is_ possible.”

"Why have I never heard of this?"

"Because no one here knows. Knew. There are no records, because not that many people have ever witnessed a lethifold attack. They attack in the darkness, usually when the victim is sleeping, after all, and if anyone else is in the immediate vicinity - the vicinity close enough to cast light, for example, before the thing gets a chance to absorb its victim and escape -  it stays away. And even then, who, knowing what awaits them, knowing what a leth is and how it works, would be aware enough, conscious enough, _intending_ enough... To shove their loved one out of the way and literally walk into their own shroud in order to spare them that fate?” He smiled a little, crookedly. “His wand knew what it was doing. It wasn’t trying to get the thing to take you at all.  It was working through what, by then, it knew of its companion… That he was a Warder, through and through, and loved you completely, and would, in the crucial moment - particularly if it herded you toward a bathroom, of all places - offer his life for yours. If you had yet been up in that room with Ramone... If the wards hadn’t fallen... You _would_ have witnessed it die past the point of enfolding him, Luke. That kind of offering… As it turns out, it’s the only thing that can kill a lethifold besides an accident. The thing would have died, and both of you would have survived.”

Lucius began to tremble violently.

"Why are you saying this," he whispered in agony. "Why. Why? It has been _twenty years!_ If he could have, if he was really alive, he would have told me, he would have called, he would have _written!"_

"Maybe he intended to," Ren said. "Maybe he woke up, and made his way back to Castelobruxo, to his uncle. And maybe his uncle, after the shock of seeing him, went back to that street, into the sewer, and saw the dead lethifold. And maybe… Maybe he understood what must have truly powered your mind's shield, and what was now maintaining it on that day-to-day basis, and said ‘Ramonzinho, if you tell him you are alive, all will be lost. He can only live if he remains the man that his belief of your death has made him.’ And maybe... Maybe he wept and railed and screamed and fell to his knees and cursed God because he loved you and didn't want to leave you in that kind of pain. Alone, defined by your pain for the rest of your life, with the belief that you had for all intents and purposes killed the only man you had ever loved or would love.”

He looked down at his wide, strong-fingered hands.

“I don't believe he wanted that for you, Luke,” the man who had been born Harry Potter said quietly. “Or to do that to you. No, I _know._ But if he'd come to you, and said "Luz, I'm alive..." Even if by some miracle, the internal wards had remained stable, which was in no way, _no way_ guaranteed; again, it was your belief in the fact that he’d sacrificed himself for you that changed you so utterly, not the sacrifice itself… Would you have been able to walk away from him again, to do your duty in all honour, and leave him again to suffer the fate that he'd only escaped by a miracle? Or would you have told Niss, and together, the two of you left the floor of your own jungle and gone to him, because as God saved him for you, He obviously intended you all to be together?"

Lucius was weeping so hard he was nearly retching with it. Ren turned, rose to his knees on the bench, and held him tight, rocking him slowly.

"It's been ten _years,"_ he wept. "Riddle's been gone for ten _years_. He could have written then, if he were alive he _would_ have; why are you... Has he been lost again since; why are you telling me, I didn't want to _know,_ I didn't..."

"Lethifolds," Ren said. "Are never guaranteed gone till you see the bodies. You know their victims are gone because you _don't_ see them anymore... But Dark Wankers are never out of the picture till they're dead with _witnesses._ And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have wanted to risk telling you, when, as you just said yourself, you might have had to lose him twice as a result?"

_"Why are you telling me all this!"_

"Because you loved him. You never stopped loving him. You've never been able to. He's a part of you. I _know._ " He pulled back and wiped at his face with his hand. "Shh, baby boy. Shh, sweetheart. Shh." He pulled him in and held him tight again."The thing about miracles," he said. "Is that you're not limited to one per lifetime, yeah? I know. And when you get one... When you know you've got one - been given one - incoming and complicating returning Dark Wankers or no, there's nothing left in you that can deny another man his. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Uh?”

"Turns out that there actually are a few perks to being a hero," Ren said. "Everybody just wants to do things for you, no questions asked. So when you make a floo call to a particular person and say "I'm looking for So-and-So, a man named Antonio Silva’, he says, 'you mean the Bishop Antonio Silva?' and you say 'Erhm, what?' and he says 'nice guy. Bit scary, but very nice. I’ll get you his home floo; I'm sure he'll be delighted to talk to you, Master-Adept Hero.’ And he gets you the number, and you call, and Bishop So-and-So answers the floo, and says ' _Boa tarde, Dom_ Lourenço, thank you very much for your help with our tiresome little infestation; we are all much obliged; what can I do for you,'  and I say ' _Boa tarde_ , your Grace; you're very welcome, it was my pleasure I assure you. I’m very curious on a certain matter, two actually, and was hoping you could shed some light there for me. Let’s start with the first; why is it, _Senhor_ Padre Phoenix, that your heart believes you dead?' And he says 'I beg your _pardon?'_ And I say 'You heard me; no, don’t ask me how I know; just go with the fact that I do, and answer the question.' And he thinks and says ‘perhaps it is because when I burned, my physical human brain was destroyed? All of the physical neurological connections involved in our empathic bond would have been severed, at least from his perspective. Mine would not have been because I have two brains, and the one that was left has never truly embraced the personal implications of death, neurologically or otherwise.’”

 _“What?”_ He sat up abruptly.

“Antonio didn’t know that you thought he was dead, Lucius,” Ren said gently again. “He had no idea. None. The link’s been active for him all these years, you see? Muted, because of the physical distance, but he had no idea you were suffering so - not because of the particular issue anyway. He was so upset when I told him, _so_ upset. If he’d known, nothing, _nothing_ would have kept him away. So  I said “Yeah, that makes sense, so when you see each other next, and he touches you as a phoenix - maybe when he hears your song again - it should re-establish,” and he says “ _Nossa Senhora_ , my poor, poor heart. What he has gone through; truly it is a miracle of God that he has survived. I am on my way.” And I say “No, no. There’s still my second question, that is; when is a life sacrifice not a life sacrifice." And he says "Ah. That question. One moment, _por favor,_ I will call in my subject matter expert.  RAMONZINHO! FLOO!" and less than thirty seconds later, what-do-you-know and who-should-appear. And he says "Hola, Cartwright-from-America, we rather expected we might be hearing from you soon; tell me, how is my good friend Luz,' and I say "Ask him yourself, why don't you.' And he says "Well that sounds very nice, heh, though perhaps a visit would be in order, so that I might explain this and that in person. When do you think would be a good day,” and I say "How about after the Solstice, when the ley-lines aren’t quite so static; no no, we’ll come to you and then we’ll all go to New York together for my investiture.” And he says ‘That will do nicely, though it will be quite the shock, and he might be quite angry with me’ and I say 'don't be an idiot, Carriera-from-Brazil. You may not have managed to die for him, but he did die for you, and you don't do that for someone if you could manage to be angry with him when you show up alive and well on his doorstep. Or when he shows up on yours. Whatever.’ And he says, 'Alright, but if he is angry, you must protect me, Master-Adept,' and I say "You really are a bit much, aren’t you, Carriera? I have to get back to work now, but tell your uncle to keep an eye out through the ISEP school link, and I'll send you those tickets in the morning. You don’t have to worry about portkey fees, by the way, or hotels once you get there. Anyone who travels with me is doing it on the ICW’s knut, and I don’t know about you, but under the circumstances, it only seems appropriate to run up their bills.'”

The clearing rang with the silence that followed his words. Lucius stared at him. Ren leaned in and kissed his mouth, softly and deeply.

"I have to go tidy up," he said. "Cleaning spells only take you so far, and I really do need the hot water and soap to be going on with if I’m going to do the full-fledged meet-and-greet. So I’ll just  pop up the school and shower and tidy, alright, and maybe find some coffee to fortify me before all the speeches and whatnot?”

“Lawrence, what…”

“Shh.” He put a finger on his lips, and replaced it again lightly with his own lips. “All’s well,” the Master-Adept said again. “I promise you. I _promise_ you. Just… Wait. Wait here, alright, Luke? Just… Wait, and all will come to you.”

"Lawrence... What… No, do not go! I do not _understand!_ ”

Ren  just slipped off down the main path. Lucius watched him go, wet-eyed and bewildered. Behind him, he heard soft footsteps, crossing the gazebo. He did not dare turn around. In the end, though or perhaps at the beginning… He didn’t need to. The footsteps stopped before him.

" _Hola_ , Malfoy-from-England," a soft, accented voice said.

 

* * *

 

Lucius Malfoy turned  slowly. His eyes traveled up and over the man standing before him. His blue eyes were wide with shock, like those of a bemused little boy.

“Is this a dream?" he asked in wonder.

"No." Ramone Carriera seated himself beside him. "The Long Night is over, and it is as the book says, heh? ‘The term is over and the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.’"

There was a pause.

"The bloody lethifold," Lucius said. "Bloody spat you _out_?"

" _Sim._ It did. Are you very angry with me?"

His eyes were not dancing, but anxiously smiling. The wonder turned to belief, and with it, the aristocratic eyebrows arched... At six foot four, and Ramone at his same six foot two, there was not much room to look down at him reprovingly, but he managed it quite well.

"You have grown," Carriera noted, tilting his head slightly. "You are no longer all bones and angles. And your look of austere disapproval? It has matured considerably."

"The bloody _lethifold._ " Lucius' accent was very precise indeed. "Bloody. Spat. You. _Out_?"

 _"Sim._ Poison dart frogs. An excellent form. No, the best. No warm blood... We climb quickly and well... We glow in the night... And as it turns out, we really _are_ very bad for the digestion, heh?"

An actual snort of laughter escaped Lucius at that.

"Did it hurt you?" he said, anxiously in his own turn. "If it spat you out, you must have been in, at least a little."

"It is not quite accurate, the analogy," Ramone conceded. "In truth, things never progressed that far. It tried to embrace me, but I was awake, so it could not crush my protesting voice first, as is its custom. I said  'I am sorry _Senhor_ Lethifold; I may be a bit much, I know, but I am not quite as much a _puta_ as _that_. No, no. Do not take it personally; I am sure you are considered very handsome among your own kind, but it will be easier, heh, if you accept that my heart belongs to another, rather than forcing me to say outright that I simply do not find you attractive? And it argued, but even so, I was yet firm, heh? I said "I am not a small boy anymore, _Senhor_ Lethifold. You may take me as you will, but my Luz has promised that he will remember me, and he is a man of duty and honour, and love too, and such a man will never break his word. Between him and the great God who sent him to me,  I will never be lost.’ And it argued again, but in the end, what could it do? In the end, it said 'Pah, Carriera, you are more trouble than you are worth. I came here for dinner, not conversation', and..."

He cut himself off, eyes bright with tears.

"It did not hurt me," he said.

"Good," Lucius said awkwardly. It was all he could think of to say. For a long moment, they simply sat, looking at each other.

"You managed the Change, _sim?"_   Ramone said finally. " _Tio_ said that you did, but he made me, and everyone else here, forget the details of what you were. That way we could not give you away should your shadows ever come to visit ours, and they discuss together what they had heard of you."

"I did, yes.”

"And you were not like your Patronus?"

"No. Though..." The blond man flicked his wand. "That Changed too, as it turned out."

And Ramone Carriera watched as the small silvery frog with the vivid bright splash across the swelling throat hopped across the clearing. When he looked up, Lucius was holding out his hand to him.

"Palm up," he directed. Ramone held out his hand, palm up. There was no blur, the other man just.. Vanished.

"What..." He felt a tiny movement on his fingers and looked down. Blinked, and squinted hard, then turned the lighted wand on him.

" _Nossa Senhora_!" His face was a study in delighted astonishment. "Now that... _That_ is truly something, heh?"

"Patagonian glass spider.” Lucius appeared again suddenly.  “Invisible save under direct light or against a stark white background. Can jump great, almost impossible distances. Can weave full webs into adulthood, unlike most other male spiders, rendering it able to move far more efficiently and in unexpected and unanticipated and unpredicted directions. An excellent form. No, the best.”

“It will serve you very well when you have more than my single godchild to keep an eye on,” he conceded. “I was very disappointed in you there, Malfoy-from-England. Draco is a lovely name, but it does not translate in European as Ramone. And after I named my own child after you too!”

“I’m sorry?”

Ramone’s eyes danced. He dug into his pocket for a patched wallet, extracting a small photo… A lanky young girl in familiar green robes waved up at Lucius excitedly: a positive vision with dark hair done up in dozens of narrow, brightly-beaded-and-feathered braids, wide-set, (deceptively, he suspected) dulcet eyes, and delicate, winged eyebrows.

"You have a daughter!” Lucius gazed, enchanted. Before his eyes, the image of the girl blurred and shifted to a radiantly blue, bright-eyed…  “And she is a parrot? Do not tell me, she too is a bit much, and never closes her mouth a moment?”

Ramone laughed at that. “I do, and _nao,_ she is not a parrot.  She is a Spix’ Macaw. They are not usually quite so brilliant and intense in colour, but she _is_ a Silva, and there is her mama to take into account there besides.”

“So you are married? To a _woman?_ Salazar’s sweaty shorts, man, you might have survived, but still! That lethifold did _something_ to you!"

The laugh turned to a guffaw. "No, I am not married, and there was but one woman, briefly. We met, or rather re-met, sixteen years ago now, and had a Moment. You will remember her, I have no doubt: one Carmen Lopez?"

"Car…” Lucius’ eyes widened even further.  “Carmen’s daughter is yours?”

" _Sim._ We met in a bookstore in Rio de Janeiro in 1974, when I had returned briefly to visit _Tio._ I went to the School of Warding after all, heh, but in disguise as another student, a year later.  Gus Richards assisted _Tio_ in making the arrangements, and has helped keep the secret of my death and return, and with protecting my parents and Pablo until the time came for all to be revealed.  She was much surprised to see me alive too, heh? She asked me why, if I escaped, I did not come back to reveal that I was safe after all, and I explained that by then everyone thought I was lost, and that _Tio_ Antonio said that if I came back and showed that I was not - that I had escaped the very embrace of the shadow by what could only be God's grace, after my loss had been reported -  it would go very badly for me indeed, with the government. She said that was very true, it would have, and she said again that she was very glad to see me alive. She said that she had lit a candle for me, and one for you too so that you might find peace. She did not remember much of you specifically, but that we had been roommates, and thought that you might have been sent back knowing that your friend had died, as was stated on the public record, in a flying accident. I would not have kissed her right there in the aisle just for her courtesy to me, but I did for the kindness she showed you. And she laughed and called me a _puta_ , and said again a third time that she was so happy I was safe, and we cried, and we went to find dinner, and nine months later, there was our Anna-Luisa.”

Lucius smiled at him at that, his eyes blue and soft.

"So why _did_ you not marry her?” he wanted to know. “Your uncle must have been quite perturbed with you if you did not offer, at least for the child’s sake.”

“I did offer." Ramone’s lips twisted in wry amusement. "She refused me. She said that I kissed much more nicely than she'd anticipated and that she would always remember me, but that she rather suspected that I was meant for another."

"Uh?

"She told me that she thought God saved me as a sign that he intended me to be a priest,” he translated. “And as she turned out to be exactly correct, it is a good thing we had our Moment and our daughter before He told me of His plans himself, heh?"

“A…” For the first time, Lucius focused on what the man before him was wearing - not a cassock, but black slacks and a black short-sleeved shirt, with a black cloth belt similar to the one Silva had always worn. As he turned a bit  on the bench, he saw the familiar pale strand of rosary beads, not hanging off the belt, but emerging from his back pocket. His eyes fell on the collar of the shirt. Under his focused gaze, it shimmered a bit and reformed, the round white collar appearing unglamoured. “You are a _priest_?”

"Malfoy-from-England, you thought I was dead, and now you see that I am not. As for me... I have missed you like half of my soul and have prayed for this day with every breath and beat of my heart since the moment I returned to _Tio_ and he told me what had happened with you. And here we are, the day come at last, our mutual horrors faded away as we sit together on this bench, and we have not yet so much as touched each other, much less embraced or kissed.  For my part, I have not embraced or kissed you because I _am_ a priest, but... Now I ask you, what is _your_ explanation?"

Lucius said nothing, though his eyes strayed down the path Ren had taken... Ramone smiled at him sideways.

"He is a good man. _Tio_ was very impressed when they talked, and very amused when he read his letter entreating our duelists to re-sign for the Invitationals. He is quite looking forward to crossing wands with him in Ireland. And he obviously cares for you too, heh, in his concern for your happiness?”

"I am sorry.”

"But I am not," Ramone reached out to touch his face. "These things, they work out as God intends. He sent you to me at a time when we needed each other very much, and so we loved each other very much: so much we died for each other, heh? We will not continue where we left off, but when we left off we were children, lost in the dark. Now we are not. We are men, and we have fulfilled our charges as the men God intended us to be, and as we have humbled ourselves to His will, however it killed us... I believe that this day, this day where we find ourselves sitting together, alive and safe and in the light, all our shadows defeated -  is our reward. And that is _more_ than enough for me."

And Lucius lurched forward and hauled him into his arms at last, and buried his face in the dark hair. Ramone wound his arms around him and pressed his face to his shoulder. When, at last, they pulled apart, wiping at each other’s streaming faces...

“What is this about your uncle competing in Ireland?"

"Oh." Ramone jumped a little. "That. Well. There are wildcard slots, heh? If one of the invited contenders cannot compete, a lottery is held in their home country, and that duelist invited to attend instead.  Our Brazilian champion has withdrawn, though it has not been published yet, and  _Tio_ ’s name  - he was certified back in ‘83 - was drawn in her stead. They asked him if he would like to come, and he spoke to the Archbishop for his permission, and the Archbishop said ‘ _Sim,_ of course, Antonio. It is a good time for that little vacation now that you have never had time to take,' so the announcement will be made this week."

"Your champion withdrew? Again? Or did she not re-sign with the others after Lawrence sent his letter out? "

"No, she did, but then she and her husband found that they are expecting a child. She is a bit old for it, fifty five, but she is so happy, so happy. Both of her sons were lost, and now... God is giving miracles to us all now, heh?"

‘It would seem so.” He stared at him in renewed wonder. Still bone-thin, he seemed as infused with vigor and energy as ever, but he moved with a kind of smooth, supple grace and elegance that had not been there at eighteen, and there were strands of white at his temples and fine lines at the corner of his eyes. Carriera smiled at him and caught his hand, turning it to kiss his palm.

“My Luz,” he said affectionately. “Still and always?”

“Always,” Lucius said. “You have never left me, not for a moment.”

“And now the whole world knows of our affair,” he teased gently. “My parishioners are quite scandalized.”

“I said that I was in love with you,” the taller man pointed out. “I have never once said that you reciprocated.”

“That was very tactful of you,” he agreed. “Though it may be noted that the _mentira_ smells the same either side of the ocean, and we are Catholics besides, and thus intimately aware of the doctrine of omission.”

“You are not receiving trouble over it?”

“ _Nao, nao_. Not at all. It is a sad statement, but there is that tradition at Castelobruxo that those from Away do not truly count. They go, and forget us, and we forget them, so...”

“That is not what you said then.”

“I did not know then. I had no friends with whom to discuss such things in private, and discretion was still considered important in any instance, so it was not something that was ever spoken on otherwise. And there is a difference too, in views on youthful experimentation versus established orientation. It was well known that you had a woman, now your wife, and as my last endeavour before I offered my heart-and-associated to Jesus was my moment with Carmen that resulted in our daughter, our essential and public masculine reputations are assured.”

“I may be married to Narcissa, but as recent events have proven quite conclusively that my proclivities have survived well past my school days, I, at least, am not likely to be granted such understanding.”

“Context.” Ramone flipped a hand dismissively. “It is as relevant as it ever was. You were cursed, much against your will, I am sure, and as the precarious socio-political situation in Europe does demand that you have more biological children for vital reasons, and especially since the Master-Adept is involved, those here who object on moral principle will likely prove politer than not. Not all of them, certainly, but on the whole... Children are a blessing, heh?” His eyes danced. “And you are still English. We do not try to understand the English, we simply sit back and enjoy your predictably scandalous behaviour. There was a great deal to enjoy in those photos of you in the world-wide newspapers, mm? We were all quite impressed on that photo of you riding Brazilian-style to battle, though with just the breeches, we _were_ wondering what had happened to your armour.”

“Lawrence was my armour,” he said dryly, and then, with belated horror… “Oh my God! You saw _that_ photo?”

“We have all seen that photo, _Senhor Ministro_ Malfoy. It is an excellent shot of both you and the Master-Adept. Luz Arcanjo, they are calling you now, and he the son of _Sao_ Miguel,  or possibly St. Joseph the Carpenter, builder of fences; no one can decide.  No more than they can decide, looking at the photo again, which of you is more fortunate in the other, heh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“ _Nao, nao!_ The answer is obvious; between you and him and the handsome young Carlos Weasley, the most fortunate by far is your angel!”

“And that is the official theological consensus, is it?”

“We are all singularly disinclined to judge in this instance, as I said, and there is the involvement of the Hungarian Horntails besides. We have all studied Hungarian Horntails. There, we agree, it is best to simply throw up one’s hands and leave all to Jesus.” He craned his neck. “Where is she? You did not bring her with you?”

“Lawrence said that she is up at the school. That your uncle wished to talk to her on the matter that he wished to discuss with me, before we all met up again.”

“You are not angry with him, are you? He truly did not know, Luz. He was absolutely beside himself when he realized that you thought that he had been lost. He wished to come to you immediately, or at least to write, but…”

“But what?”

“It has been a very difficult month,” Ramone admitted. “The lethifolds are gone, and now… Now the true battle begins.  We will not permit anyone to turn their backs on us any longer, my Luz. That which has been hidden has been revealed, heh, and there is no going back.  The world may not have ended, but it _is_ about to change forever, and this time, the ICW has no way of controlling it. Of controlling us. For better or worse, against all odds and by the very grace of He to whom we have prayed all of these centuries on end, we have survived, and it is a miracle, yes… But no one has ever wondered, have they, what it was like for poor Lazarus after our beautiful Jesus raised him from the dead? The pain will out now; it has not even _begun_ to out, and once it does…  The ICW has made of us whole nations of warriors. Now that the immediate enemy is disposed of, what should we do but direct our cultivated talents at those who so tortured and abused us in the name of that which we hold most dear? Satan himself can hold no more rage in his deepest heart than do my people here now, and _Tio_ has been working very, very hard to contain it. His voice and Carmen’s are the only two holding back the flood and fire.”

“Was the drawing of his name from the lottery truly a matter of chance?’

“ _Nao._ I suspect that in the end, one way or the other, the government - and Carmen is the government now - made sure that his was the only name there. There would yet be no contenders from this part of the world had the Master-Adept not made his plea in the words he did; it would be far too dangerous, but now they are all going as his personally invited guests. _Tio… Tio_ is there not only to compete but to set the example to them, and to remind them that they are operating under a truce, even if the world does not yet know that it stands on a bridge over the precipice, with every wand in our armies of the living and the lost trained on the struts and ready to unleash all hell in their sorrow and anguish and fury.”

Lucius rubbed his eyes.

“They are not angry at you.” Ramone patted his arm comfortingly. “You are quite possibly the one individual from Away besides the Master-Adept that they are not ready to eviscerate on sight.”

“And how does that work?’

“They remember you. _Tio_ called in all the survivors of the seven years attending Castelobruxo the year you were with us in the days following the Scourge, and returned their memories. Word has gotten out, heh, and he has made very sure that everyone is aware of what you have been doing abroad, and particularly that you carry both a bloodthorn wand and a Sword of St. Michael - his own brother’s wand. You are embarrassed at the thought of the photo, I know, but it says more than you ever can imagine, my Luz. It shows that you have not forgotten what you learned here, and that you yet remembered us and carried us with you in your heart as you fought your own war against the shadows. That we rode with you to battle to save your land’s own children, as you rode back-to-back with the man who saved ours… You are again, one of us. Oh, and there is a great deal of laughter over your methods of educating the bigoted masses,” he added. “Your Nomajic reading list is quite comprehensive, never mind the games you are playing with the journalists as you use their own pride and arrogance against them.”

“My war is not yet over, Ramone. Riddle is still out there, and on his way back. Soon.”

“Mm. Well, he will take his time if he knows what is good for him.”

“He does not,” Lucius said, dryly again. “He never has. It is why he hired me, after all.”

“Is he truly that stupid?”

“Not at all. He simply has, and only ever has had, the one priority - himself. Everything in the world existed for him only as it affected, and affects, him and his ideal of the Greater Good - that is, his own good. Keeping him deluded there was my major objective during the ten years after I returned to England; as long as he was gazing soulfully - soullessly? - into his own eyes  in the mirror, he never noticed me arranging matters to suit my own long-term preferred vision rather than his. Now, though, he cannot help but see it. I have been making rather the point of it all lately.”

“Was there anyone you worked with who could replace you in your former position?”

“No. I made certain of that. I did not even feel particularly guilty about it, since to replace me effectively in his eyes, they would have to be just like him.  Not everyone, after all, had a Nomaj actress for a great-grandmother to help matters along.”

“The Master-Adept has a plan,” Ramone concurred. “He will not say what it is, only that it will begin at his investiture. But it will help, he thinks. And I am to be part of it too, he has said. An important part. You have begun to educate your people, and the education must continue.”

“Dare I ask?”

“There is to be a teacher exchange at Hogwarts. Professor Lovegood will be coming here to Castelobruxo, and bringing twenty students with her. I will be going there, and bringing twenty students with me.”

“I am sorry?”

“I will be teaching Transfiguration, but only till the end of the school year. The students, the Headmaster says, are not able to manage the thought of a permanent replacement just yet. Your _Professora_ McGonagall, she was much beloved, and taught for many, many years, and for many of this generation… It is their first loss.”

“You are coming to teach at Hogwarts,” Lucius repeated. “Truly?”

“ _Sim._ It is a little late for my own own ISEP year, or rather half year, but all things come to those who wait, heh? It will be very nice. So much snow to build castles in, and I am told there are hippogryphs in the forest there!”

“It is not that.”

“ _Nao?_ Then what?”

“Our Potions Master has told me in confidence that he is retiring after the Invitationals. His circumstances have changed recently, and he is re-evaluating his priorities as a result. He is leaving to get married.”

“Is he? How very nice!”

“It is,” Lucius agreed. “And will be, for all concerned. He is an absolutely terrible teacher. An excellent potioneer, but a terrible teacher. He is also the Head of Slytherin House. It presents a problem, but one that is fairly easily resolved. As my own position ends after the Invitationals, he has suggested that I apply to take on both posts till the end of the school year as well. Do not tell Draco when you meet him. He will not take it well, if only because his dormitory mates will be so absolutely delighted.”

“That is very interesting, since Anna-Luisa will be coming with me. Carmen and Tomas and I have talked, and she does not need to be near the tension in the school just now, especially with her mama as _Senhora Presidente_ . And we two have not had a great deal of time together. I have always been in her life as _Tio_ was in mine, but the last decade _has_ been very busy.”

“Her stepfather is good to her?”

“ _Sim,_ he is wonderful. He and Carmen have four boys together. Hector is ten, Diego is seven, Adalberto is five, and Miguelzinho is three.”

“And are they all your godsons?”

"As a matter of fact, they are, and as for Anna-Luisa… You and your angel share the honours of godparents there with Tomas, and another that you may remember - Bonita Sales?”

Lucius’ face lit. “Of course I remember Miss Sales! How is she?”

“Greatly looking forward to seeing you again. She had a terrible crush on you, and it has not improved, I fear. She is happily married, but that photo nearly made her poor eyeballs explode.”

“She had a crush on me? ” He looked taken aback. Ramone rolled his eyes.

“All of the school had a crush on you, my Luz. It started the fourth week when _Tio_ first had you kneel before him when offering you your meals. That weeping you heard? That was Jesus’ sorrow at the unrepentant collective imagination of the entire student population taking hold. It came back in full force, His sorrow that is, when the memory of you was returned, and He realized that time may have made adults of us all, that but absolutely nothing has changed otherwise.”

"Are you able to come? Do not the children and your parishioners here need you?”

“They will not be left alone. They are actually quite intrigued by my replacement. _That_ one was a bit of a shock all around.”

“Do I know him?”

“I am told you have heard of him, anyway. And his parents too for that matter. You know _them,_ very very well.” His eyes danced.

“Uh?’

“You will see.” He heaved himself up, and reached out a hand… There was a blur from behind a tree, and…

“He gave it back to you?”

“We have agreed to share it.  He will use it on the Solstices, and for more troublesome warding jobs, but it does have that certain sentimental value on my part.” He strapped the Golden Howler to his back. “Now.” He held out his hand again. Lucius rose and took it, then hauled him into another hug.

“I cannot believe they all knew you were alive,” he said, muffled. “And did not tell me!”

“To be fair,” Ramone said. “Your angel and Carlos, at least, did not know about me, only about _Tio._ My official return to life is quite recent. I have been working under another identity for quite some time, in order to avoid issues with the government, and _Tio’s_ efforts have been much more effective without the potential hostage to fortune. In the end…” He grimaced as they began to walk down the path, still hand in hand. “Looking back… The _cabrões_ would not have let me live, Luz, even had I made it to Paris. There would have been some sort of accident, even there; there was simply too much at stake. We none of us wanted to see it then, or believe it, but it is the truth.  The game, as they say, was rigged against us, no matter the path we took. It is ironic, really, or not, that the only way I could have lived… Was to die, and so I did, and after I did… With my presumed and official demise, _Tio_ had absolutely nothing to lose, and with the awareness that the procreation cycle was approaching, everything was vital. He could act with impunity from his orders, not that those who issued his orders were protesting his actions - and he did.”

“Dare I ask?”

“He came back to the school that September, and refused to leave. They attempted to remove him, and Professora Hernandez told them that if they persisted, she would leave as well. They called what they thought was her bluff, heh, and the parents were notified of her expulsion. They did not react well, at all, and the Board of Governors was forced to rescind.”

“He took over the _school?_ ”

“ _Sim._ The government, of course, did not want the ICW to understand what was happening, so were forced to cooperate with the new regime. The regime wanted nothing from them but their inaction, so that it could train the students to live, so it was not much of a problem. When the glutting began in 1973, and it became obvious what was coming... “ He grimaced again. “All protestations halted, of all varieties. Everyone was too busy, heh, and all official energies went to the distribution and implementation of the Luz Sequence. It was published posthumously;  though knowledge of it was limited to the Lower Americas and the Pacific Islands. The decimation of the Magical population slowed almost to nil, but the Nomaji losses increased exponentially, and we were yet responsible for them all. It has been, not to put too fine a point on it, utter hell, and with the knowledge of what was most certainly coming, that our efforts must be fruitless in the end… It is the real reason we built the town here, in 1986. We knew the end was coming, and we have been determined that when it did… We would be together.”

Lucius’ fingers tightened over his.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” he said. “What it must have been like, to wake and hear that they were all dead.”

“We are still attempting to imagine it,” Ramone confessed. “It is so strange.  _Tio_ told us, and of course we believed him… Gus called him, you see, from the Master-Adept’s duel, and as _Tio_ has always known where the spawning grounds are, he flew over immediately, and examined the fence and the bodies, and came back to Castelobruxo and informed us all. And he shared his memories with us all, so that we would see ourselves. But it is as if it is a dream, as you said, and we are waiting to awake. We are wakening, slowly, and it is not pleasant at all. “

“Did you feel it? When it happened?’

Ramone thought on that.

“Not so much when it happened,” he said. “ _Nao_. But afterwards...The surges have been affecting us greatly. The blockage in the world-node blocked us as well. Our ability to channel magic. It is quite disconcerting. We worked so hard, always, without realizing it, to become magically strong because we have had to overcompensate, and now...Now we do not have to work for it, and the extra magical muscle we have all built is yet there.” His lips tilted, and his eyes danced. “The Invitationals are going to be very interesting, heh? Your Obonyo-Higgs may yet have the ability to drop mountains, but never mind the Master-Adept, our contestants will be as mountain ranges, and they are quite looking forward to sweeping the top twenty rungs on the ladder.”

“There are no others they worry on?”

“ _Nao._ Well, one, perhaps. You have heard of Chaim Levy, from Israel?”

“Yes, of course, though I have never seen him duel in person. He has always been quite reserved in his public appearances.”

“I have seen him. _Nao,_ that is not quite correct. I have worked with him. We are very well acquainted.”

“Worked with him… On what?”

“He is what we of the religious persuasion call a demon hunter,” Ramone explained. “He duels so that he may fight the forces of Darkness more effectively. Not only Dark Magicals or creatures, but the forces behind them, that are not born of Dark magic but Darkness itself, and who only use Dark magic, and those who are inclined to it, as tools to promote and further the UnAcceptable.”

“Why did he put his name in for the Invitationals? It seems as if such an individual would find the occasion rather frivolous.”

“Because Obonyo-Higgs did. That wand of hers… There is a great, great deal more to it than she advertises, my Luz, and no, she does not serve the Dark, but that does not mean that _it_ does not. Levy has sworn a personal vow that he will not rest till that which possesses it is cast back into the depths forever.”

“Mm. Well, more power to him, I say. I would certainly not be sorry to see it go; the bloody thing is completely repulsive. It has never gotten over the fact that Narcissa rejected its attempts to seduce her into rescuing it from Obonyo-Higg’s possession the first day it met her, and never mind its attempt to skewer her through the throat on the spot for the insult, has alternately been attempting to woo her and kill her ever since.  It does not seem to process that she does not actually need a wand, though that is probably the best indication in and of itself that, like the Horntail wands, it is not truly, or at least exclusively, a wand at all.“

“WHAT?” This time it was Ramone’s turn to stop in his tracks. “The thing has attempted to bond with your _angel?_ ”

“We believe that it senses the latent insanity of her line in her core,” Lucius explained. “And is attracted to it. It is one of the major reasons its mistress never came to Europe during Riddle’s war; he would certainly have tried to recruit her, one way or the other, and once the thing had got a whiff of Bellatrix …” He shuddered.

“That is a peculiar way of putting it,” Ramone said after a moment. “Its mistress.”

“It is certainly not her companion. They are bonded, yes, but beyond the pragmatic working relationship - and it is a very effective one, to be fair -  they completely and actively despise each other. There is a reason she keeps it chained; if it cannot seduce my wife, killing the one who created it and bears it now would be just as satisfying.”

“We will talk more on this later.” Ramone shook himself. “With _Tio,_ and perhaps with Levy himself, in New York. He is coming specifically to meet with the Master-Adept on the subject. It will be quite the party, heh?” He grinned suddenly, boyishly.  Lucius’ breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“You are quite certain I am not dreaming you?” he couldn’t help but say, as they emerged from the hewn tunnel of foliage.

 _“Sim,_ if only because I am quite certain, Malfoy-from-England, that if this were a dream, on either of our parts, we would yet be back in the clearing, perhaps in the gazebo, though with a much softer transfigured floor.”

Lucius snorted with laughter. “That is very true,” he conceded.  “I…”

“LUZ! LOOK OUT!”

“Wha…” And Lucius fell back, on his back, as a gigantic golden blur hurled itself at them, landing not on him, but on Ramone. He pulled himself up, laughing out loud again as the magnificent lioness nuzzled and purred at his former lover, batting him about playfully and knocking him back, mock-growling as he squawked and flailed in panic. When it blurred back to human form, he half-lay, gawking as Narcissa pulled him up magically and threw herself into his long, thin arms, laughing and weeping both.

“You stupid, stupid, _beautiful_ …  I can’t believe it; you’re _alive_ , you... “

“Mmf!” Carriera gurgled, startled, as she grabbed him by the ears and hauled him in for a scorching, deep and passionate kiss. Under the force of the particular onslaught, his shock dissipated before it had truly settled.  When, finally they separated… “ _Nossa Senhora._ I have died and gone to heaven after all, and here is the angel as the proof!”

“You’re not _dead,_ you great plonker! You’re _alive!_ ” Niss squeezed him again, so hard he gurgled again. “You’re alive! You’re _alive!"_ Lucius fell back and howled with mirth as she hauled him down once more. Ramone didn’t even pretend to resist this time; he just lifted her bodily off her feet and met her tongue with equal enthusiasm and fervour. Lucius could have sworn that he saw steam rising.

“I am very pleased to meet you at last.” Dark eyes danced as their owner finally set her on her feet, arms yet linked around her shoulders as he laughed just at the sight of her radiant, glowing face. _“Senhora_ Angel. I… OWWWWWWW!”

“Truly, Padre?” a familiar accented voice said reprovingly.  Lucius’ own laughter cut off abruptly. “This is how you behave when your bishop turns his back? Jesus, I assure you, _is_ appalled.”

“She kissed me, heh?!’  Ramone protested, rubbing his head  “Both times!” The voice’s owner just smacked his head again.

“And _that_ is for blaming the woman. How well did it go for Adam, hmm, when he persisted in pointing to Eve on the subject of the apple? I am quite sure that a great deal of our Father’s displeasure there was because he was less than a gentleman and refused to take responsibility for his own urges and actions.”

“I am not saying that I did not enjoy it, _Tio._ But a gentleman also pays his debts, regardless of his current circumstances, and we did promise each other an appropriately warm greeting when we met, when we wrote to each other all those years ago.”

“Hell is warmer,” his uncle said succinctly. “I am quite sure that Jesus would understand both of your current positions relative to past matters.”

“ _Sim,_ _Tio.”_   Ramone ducked his head meekly, eyes dancing under his long lashes. “I am a bad, bad priest, I know. I apologize, to both you and our beautiful Jesus.”

“You are an excellent priest. You are yet chronically a bit much. I am only grateful that you had a daughter instead of a son, to inherit Carmenzinha’s good sense instead of your lack thereof.”  Silva was paying no real attention to his own words though, his eyes now fixed on Lucius’... Lucius couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to stop and still and reverse, unwinding slowly at first, faster and faster, till in all the world there existed only the slight, straight  figure before him - five seven or eight, perhaps, with unfashionably short, shining black hair and, even after twenty years, not a single strand of silver around his temples… Narrow, sharp features the lips straight and fine, the eyebrows delicate and poised to take swift flight off of his face... He could have been any age between forty and eighty. The black cassock he wore was buttoned down the front, the high white collar framed in stiff black was round and distinctive, and he wore a simple black cloth belt with a string of beads - a rosary- clipped over it.

“ _Bom dia_ ,” Antonio Silva said softly. “My fine young Englishman.”

Lucius struggled, but it was no use: no use at all.  He lurched forward, almost falling with it: one step and another and another, and fell to his knees, burying his face in the dark shoulder. Long, cool fingers moved through his pale hair as his phoenix hummed quietly in his ear…  A single low note resonated through him, awakening something within him as from a long dark sleep. The single note caught as a spark, flaring and rising into the soaring orchestral, suffusing and subsuming all else. After a long, eternal moment, if quieted a bit, replaced not by a wave, but a sea of mutual projected sorrow, joy, and fierce, fierce triumph.

**_One._ **

“Hello, sir,” he managed when the sea, too, had calmed a bit. “It is very good to see you again. I….” His voice, thick and clogged with tears, soared and cracked as if he were sixteen again. “It is so good to be home.  With you.” He wiped at his eyes. “I have missed… I have missed you…” The crack widened and broke open. “So much.”

“Oh, Luizinho.” Silva’s own voice broke at that. “Oh, my Luizinho. I am so, so sorry, I did not know, my heart. I swear it, I…”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Lucius said, and it was true. “None of it matters now. All that matters is that I am here with you, and you are here with me, and…”

He buried his face in his shoulder again.

“I carried you with me,” he said, muffled. “I carried you in my heart. Every second of every minute of every hour of every day.”

“Shh, my son.” Silva hummed again in his ear. “Shhh, my heart. I love you so much, Luis. So much. _Dom_ Lourenço, he is a miracle, but you…” He tilted his face and dried it with the sleeve of his cassock. His dark, narrow features were shining with ferocious, exultant pride. “You are nothing short of a triumph of God.”

“So _sweet,_ ” a young male voice sighed dolefully. “I just can’t _stand_ it!”

“Mm,” a second agreed. Lucius blinked, turning his head… His eyes nearly fell out at the sight before him: two boys, certainly no more than twenty years old, waggling their fingers at him in joint, cheerful tandem… The first, slightly shorter one had thick, messily rumpled dark hair, brown eyes and what could only be deliberately appalling taste in clothes. The second had ice-blond hair pulled back in a neat, short tail, pale grey eyes and a neatly pointed chin. _His_ clothes were impeccable to the point of near-parody, and he stood, or rather lounged, in the elegantly upright position, in stark contrast again to his round-shouldered, slouching companion.

“Do you know,” the blond continued. His drawl was as thick as Lucius’ own had ever been, but the accent was nothing remotely close to British - it strolled, rather than hailed, in an eminently leisurely, gentlemanly fashion, straight from the sultry heated depths of American Georgia. “I can’t help but wonder what all the family portraits would think? I’ve never met them, but still. Doesn’t seem like they’d find it quite on, specially since he’s Minister of Magic now and all.” He cocked his head. “Good _golly,_ that’s unsettling. I’ve seen the photos and you said I look just like him, your Grace, but still. Am I really that impressive, Al? Tell me the truth, now. I can manage it, honestly.”

“No,” the man he’d addressed as Al said judiciously. “No, I think it’s fairly safe to say that you look as amiably and harmlessly stupid as you ever have.”

“Ah well.“ The blond beamed. Elegantly. Lucius, still on his knees in Silva’s arms, stared, wet-faced and stupefied. “At least I’m shot of the monocle. I’m sorry. I’m so rude!” He held out a shapely, pale hand.  Lucius rose automatically, Silva’s own hand on his elbow to balance him, and took it. “Scorpius Hyperion Hollingsworth-Malfoy at your service.  I’m the son you and Mother there gave up for adoption when she had me on her ISEP year. This is Allan Seville-Potter, Harry Potter’s American cousin; you can just call him Al, and oh yes, he’s also the Master-Adept’s suave, debonair and devilishly handsome former brother-in-law. We two met when he was working a beach-side bar in Hawaii three years ago, when he caught me magically topping my drinks straight from the bottles on the shelves, and have been boon companions ever since. Not bent, though. Just boon. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but we’re both quite looking forward to creating our own descendant lines the biologically traditional way. “

“Erhm,” was all Lucius could say.

“I’m guessing he’s not a hugger,” his dimensionally-displaced-and-rejuvenated grandson said to the dimensionally-displaced-and-rejuvenated-Albus-Severus-Potter sadly. “How very disappointing. Stella did warn me; what can you expect, she said, of those raised in such a neurotic and repressed country as England, but still.”

“He’s probably just overshot his emotionally expressive rations for the day,” Al reassured him. “Could be the shock. He’s had quite a few of those too.  Maybe if you reassured him that you’ve had a wonderful and fulfilling life, and don’t resent him at all, and completely understand that he and your mum there did what they had to protect you from a hideous early death at the hands of Whosit-Lord-Wotshisface? And that the Bishop and Headmistress’ own children, Tony and Carlotta, now forty four, and conceived before his Grace here became a priest and hidden away in order to protect them from the lethifolds, governmental and otherwise, raised you beautifully in tandem with that wonderful witch, Stella Hollingsworth, who just happens to be married in recent years to the Master-Adept’s long lost father, Frankie Cartwright? They’re not here right now,” he informed Lucius. “Frankie’s currently hard at work in New York on the catering contract for his son’s investiture as an International Warder, and Stel’s doing up the flowers in the company of my cousin and your godson again. Tony and Carlotta will be along soon enough though; they were out working the world-node with the rest of the Warders last night and are off cleaning up before the party starts.”

“What he said,” Scorpius said agreeably. “Honestly, Father, I’m really not fussed on the past - which as a historian is not something that I thought I’d ever say in any lifetime - I’m just happy to be here now.” He beamed. “With you!”

Lucius just stared at him.  Silva prodded him gently, his dark eyes dancing just as Ramone’s were.

“Go on, my heart,” he prompted. “Say hello to your son. He is a lovely boy: very talented, and quite sweet. Inez was saying, just the other day, that he reminds her so very much of your own mother. It is an excellent recommendation.”

Ramone guffawed. _“Sim._ It is,” he said. “At that.” He slung an arm about Scorpius. Scorpius hugged him back enthusiastically. “I was so pleased to meet him,” he said to Lucius. “He is very good at Potions, like you, Malfoy-from-England, and my cousins, Tony and Carlotta again, have raised him to be an excellent administrator as well. He will have no trouble, I am sure, taking over the family business when the time comes. Oh, and Tony is a priest as well, is that not wonderful? _Tio_ and Professora Hernandez were so thrilled to learn of his vocation when they were all reunited again after all these years - not quite as thrilled as I was surprised, mind you, that _Tio_ and Anna-Luisa and I are not, after all, the last of the Silvas - and Carlotta is a Warder too, as Al here has said, and will be sitting for her International credentials as soon as the tests may be arranged!”

“I am pleased to hear it.” Lucius cleared his throat. “How long did you say you have all known each other again?”

“Going on two years now,” Scorpius said happily. “It’s all a bit of a long complicated story, but it’s all come out in the wash, hasn’t it? All we have to do now is take care of the last couple of items on the agenda - those would be offing the VoldePlonker and establishing workable parameters for world peace - and we can get straight on with the happy-ever-after!”

“Two _years?”_

 _“Sim._ We are all so delighted when they arrived on our doorstep and offered whatever assistance they could to us. The boys are wonderful; your godson Neville is a delight, and as for little _Senhor_ Flea…”

“ _Senhor_ … _Who?”_

“Flea,” Al supplied. “That’d be young Harry. He’s not impressed by the fact that people define him by the name he was born to, and since his grandfather was Fleamont and had that fantastic reputation for the things he did over his lifetime, not just because of things that happened around him, or to him, he chose it to be going on with to make the point of his  essential philosophy of self-directed living. Though it’s not so much a philosophy as it is an obsession. We call him Flea because he’s so small. Also, he bites.”

“Literally?”

“No, no. Well, not anymore,” Scorpius temporized. “He works mostly on the metaphorical level there now; Longbottom’s ongoing etiquette lessons have had that much effect at least. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it though. “

“Mm,” Al agreed. “Point of note; Class XXXXXX: The Formerly-Harry Beastling is much soothed by offerings of jerky and discussions of runes and dragons. Nix on the subject of flying - he got a bit of a bump on the noggin awhile back, and it’s done him in for heights -  and oh yes, don’t, if you know what’s good for you at all, ever, _ever_ rag on him about _his_ height. He’s quite sensitive there, and you’d be risking all the bits below his eye level.”

“So noted.” Lucius tried to resist the urge to clutch his hair. He failed miserably. “I am so sorry. I was not... We were not… We received your letter last month, or rather Lawrence did, but… I was not expecting to… It is a bit of a shock, you see?”

”No worries. All’s good. I don’t suppose you’re a great enormous geek?” Al inquired brightly. “We’re still trying to figure out where Scorp here got that one from.”

“I do not… It is…  Possible, I suppose? My son Draco would definitely say yes; he is quite embarrassed at my constant references to Nomajic books, cinema and music.”

“Woot!” Scorpius cheered, and hurled himself into Lucius’ startled arms. “I’ve come home to my people! Person! Malfoys and mayhem, hurrah!”

“Good _God_ , man!” Al said, appalled. “We’ve discussed this _how_ many times?! Control yourself!”

“Don’t be such a plonker, Potter. Seville. Seville-Potter. Whatever. Good _golly,_ you’re tall!” Stunned yet as he was, Lucius’s mouth actually twitched as he looked down at the young man now hunkering to examine his sandals. “Glamoured platforms?”

“No. What you see is what there is, I am afraid.”

“What, no ‘Woe, woe, it broke my heart to let you go?” Al mocked gently…  Over the top of Scorpius’ head, Lucius examined him. The shock of definitively Potter hair was dark brown rather than pitch black, and the cheekbones were angled just differently enough from his memories of Ren’s memories  to make a real and distinct difference, but there was yet no mistaking the ancestry there... The sly glint lurking behind the brown contact lenses was absolutely unmistakable, and _not_ in its resemblance to any Potter or Evans ancestor.  For the first time, Lucius processed that Allan Seville, a.k.a.  Albus Severus Potter, was not only Ren’s son, but Charlie’s nephew…  and that the particular glint might not, in the more familiar owner, be down to the Horntails after all.

 _Oh._  Dear.

 _No babysitting privileges for_ him. That _one goes in the official contracts._

“It did,” he said to Scorpius. “I never once met you, and seeing you now… I think that I have yet somehow managed to miss you every second of every day.” He blinked, hard. “You have your grandmother’s - my mother’s smile. You do look very much like her, actually, under all the Malfoy. Her expressions, the way she moved… She was very graceful, but had a great, great deal of energy with it, always.”

“She sounds _brilliant_ ,” Scorpius enthused. “Did you know, I have her wand now?”

“I am sorry?”

“The wand holster she had was goblin-made,” his not-son-not-grandson explained. “Given to her by the king of the goblins in her first year at Hogwarts, after Riddle knocked him off of the steps of Gringotts: Hogsmeade and into the muck. He didn’t know he was the king of the goblins, and neither did Granny Callida, Ragnuk says, but she was just furious with him, Riddle that is, for being such a plonker, and caught him on the spot with a Pernicious Wedgie Hex that had him picking his pants out of his bum for a week. Then she invited him out for tea, Ragnuk, that is, and told him that if he had any trouble with his bosses over it, to owl her up at the castle, and she’d sort it out. He sent her the wand holster as a gift, and she charmed it to go back to him when she  died. It had her wand in it when it did go back, so he’s had it all these years, and when I met him recently, he said that I reminded him of her, and offered me a go. We matched straight up.” He twitched his sleeve. “Dogwood and dragon heartstring. Very chatty and excitable, lots of bells and whistles, and balls for the non-verbals, but oh well. That was never my forte anyway.”

Lucius took the wand from him, turning it in his hands. It squeaked  and shot off a huge cloud of blue and bronze sparks that shot up and and swirled around him before dissolving. He blinked back more tears as he handed it back.

“I’ll take good care of it,” Scorpius promised him as he tucked it away. “So. Minister of Magic, eh?”

“I am afraid so. It is a temporary position, though.”

“Excellent.”  He squawked as to-the-point-quite-paralyzed Narcissa suddenly hurled herself at him and caught him up. “What…”

“I’m just so glad to _see_ you,” she said through her tears. He hugged her back.

“Tea?” he suggested to her. “There’s loads up at the castle, I hear. Also, breakfast. Mm. Breakfast!”

“Raisin bran?” she suggested in turn. He pff’d cheerfully.

“Bran, schman.  I am young and spry, with the unimpeded, magically unenhanced digestion to match, and I require … Anything but bran. We may also leave prunes off that list, though beans on toast are acceptable, if one spells ‘beans’ B-A-C-O-N or S-A-U-S-A-G-E anyway.”

“And if one replaces the toast with cheese buns,” Carriera agreed. He offered his arm to Narcissa. “Shall we, my angel?” Narcissa kissed his cheek fondly.

“We shall, Carriera-from-Brazil.” She slipped her hand around his elbow.

“Where is the Master-Adept?” Lucius inquired.

“Over the castle.” Al fell into step beside him. “Though he did take the time at least to kiss me and cuddle me and snot it up all over me before he started stuffing his face with everything on the buffet tables. Honestly, you’d have thought one of us had died and come back to life the way he was going on: all with the “mwah mwah mwah; there’s my favourite little snot-nosed tosser, mwah mwah mwah, quit skulking around like a dyspeptic pigeon, mwah mwah mwah, go make me some tea while I go have a proper wash, mwah mwah mwah; Merlin’s _balls,_ would it really kill you to smile for once in your life...” And he’d come right in off of the night shift too. Took me right back, I tell you.”

“You missed him too.” Scorpius poked him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t. You mwahed him back and everything, _and_ hugged him, and he hugged you back,  and you weren’t even trying to pop each others' heads off with it!”

“We’ve both gone a bit soft in our old age,” his boon companion conceded. “Renewed proximity will take care of any unnatural neo-familial affection soon enough, I’m sure.”

“I don’t have these issues,” Scorpius informed his self-assigned parentals happily. “ _For_ the record. I’m all _over_ the mwahing and hugging, and as for family? Family is _everything_.”

“Such a lovely boy,” Silva said fondly again. “And so very, very wise for one of his years!”

Lucius eyed him sideways at that.

 _Going on two_ years? _That means they all returned very nearly as soon as the boys left! Perhaps even to a temporal point_ before _they left!_

_What on earth happened to bring them back so soon? An arithmantic tangle, as their letter said… Or something more? There had to be more, if the six others who weren’t an initial part of the Project were written in after the fact. No arithmantic tangle could account for that._

“How much do you know?” he said bluntly to the two priests.

“Oh, quite everything now, I think,” Silva said. “It was quite difficult, mm, to accept any version but the absolute truth at face value when two of the faces involved bore such a remarkable resemblance to both Inez’ and mine? We both agreed quite quickly that there is no Obliviator on the planet powerful enough to force us to forget the fact that we produced two children together. Especially, as she pointed out, two at once. As surprised as the locals were to meet our youthful sins remembered, we were even more so, I promise you.”

“All’s good.” Al patted his shoulder.  “We’ll sit down after we’re done up the castle and tell you all the gory details.”

“May I ask now, at the very least, what brought you back so soon?”

“Yeah. Little Harry. Turns out there was an over ninety five percent chance that he would have died before he ever left the Dursleys if we hadn’t come back to intervene. If he hadn’t died, Dad would have realized that he hadn’t gone back in time the approximate second he arrived himself.”

_“What?”_

“God’s in the details,” Al said grimly. “Except when He isn’t. There _is_ that Other option, and as pertains to the specifics we’re referencing… it took full advantage.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a small, thick spiral notebook. Lucius took it as they walked, and examined it, flipping through the neatly scribed pages.

“The Tales of Beedle the Bard,” he read. “What is this?”

“A plant. It’s a book that never existed here, written after the fact - in your future here - and placed via time-turner in the hands of a single individual in your past to find and carry with him, if only in his memory, to our world. So that our world would read it, and provide us with the incentive to cut the Project short and come back early, so that the worst wouldn’t happen before the alternative could get started.”

_“What?”_

“Longbottom wrote it,” Al translated. “In his future, here, and sent the single bound copy back in time to his father’s trunks of books for him to find when he was eight. He memorized it, and when he crossed to our world, found our version of _his_ version, and compared mental notes. They painted a few rather alarming possibilities on what the effects of the Project might entail, one way or the other, and…”

He paused.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “You’re going to have a lot of questions, and we’ll be honest, we don’t have a lot of the answers yet. There are four chapters there in the pivotal section, and we’re not exactly sure how much is relevant and how much is poetic license. He included a few elements of a couple of classic fairy tales that did exist, when he wrote it, that we’re still sorting out. We’re at a point now where any one of the sticking points could be interpreted several different ways - not as prophecy, but as history, from his point of view again. We asked him why he thought his future self would do it that way instead of being straightforward with it and he just said “I have no idea; I’m not there yet.’ Honestly… we’re wondering if anything in is relevant beyond this point in time, that describes anything that hasn’t happened already, one way or the other, and that he didn’t just write the whole thing as an excuse for the Project Managers to become motivated enough to examine what was going on more closely, and realize their one really crucial, gigantic error, or rather assumption, that they all made before they started in on things.”

“What error would that have been?”

“That my mother and her friends and my Uncle Bill,” Al said dourly. “Had too much sense native sense between them, if not individually, not to interfere with the agreed upon parameters of the Project, and that they wouldn’t recruit a couple of the biggest drama queens in the history of drama queens in the history of any version of our world to enable the practical application of all of those stupid romance novels they were all obsessed with _before_ everything got started. Never mind the practical application of the time turner my Aunt Hermione had stuffed in the back of her sock drawer all those decades, after nicking it from the Ministry when she retired.”

“Your Uncle Bill was obsessed with romance novels?” Narcissa asked with interest. “Really?”

“He was a handsome, dashing career curse-breaker-slash- thrillseeker who married a French part-Veela. He lived his own bloody romance novel.”

“I do not suppose he dropped any hints in there on the outcome of the upcoming final encounters with my former employer?” Lucius inquired.

“Not as far as we can tell,” Scorpius said. “It’s not really a reference manual. More a ‘look back after the fact and say ‘Oh. Right then. _That’s_ what that meant. Unless it means this, of course, or meant that, or _that,_ and oh, bugger this; who the hell knows, really, so we might as well chuck the whole thing and just live our lives and make our prudent decisions in the moment as best we can, and hope for the best until the point comes where we all sit down in the pub together one night in the future with our notes on the past, and play ‘how can we best mess with our past selves’ heads without bollocking it all up completely and warping things forever’ manual.”

“Which is not altogether unlikely either,” Al corroborated. “You haven’t met Longbottom as he is now, but he’s got a bloody _weird_ sense of humour. Also, a very pragmatic bent and no desire to see things bollocksed up. He’s _invested,_ after all.”

“There is time to discuss this later, my heart,” Silva said gently. “To everything there is a season, and just now… It is the season to celebrate your homecoming, mm, with all those who have so missed you?”

“Uh?” For the first time, Lucius looked about him as they walked through the streets of the immaculate, beautiful, quite deserted town. “Where is everyone?”

“Waiting on us for breakfast.” Carriera grinned at him. “Our table will be quite crowded, I think, though I have told them all that if they eat all of the cheese buns, Jesus will be most displeased.”

“They’re _all_ here? Everyone from Castelobruxo when I was here?”

“ _Sim_.” His former lover squeezed his hand. “They will not all be able to join us in New York, but they are determined to celebrate Christmas with us as a family anyway, heh? So kind of you, my Luz, to bring the angel with you!”

 _"Everyone?_ And you left Lawrence with them? All of them? _Alone_?”

“He’s got his tea and  toast and sausage.” Al flipped a dismissive hand. “And he’s two-handed. He can eat with one, and shake people’s hands and sign autographs with the other. And if he gets too stressed, he’ll just transform to his hummingbird form and find the closest window.”

“The windows do not open here,” Lucius  pointed out. “And he is not…” He paused, struck.

“Yeah? He’s not… What?”

“You are the one who put forth the initial wager in the Invitationals betting pools that his Animagus form would be a hummingbird!”

“Mm. I was all set to cash in on the truly epic level  till everyone else got in on it, and said ‘My goodness, that does make sense, doesn’t it? We’ll all go with that, then.” The brown eyes narrowed. “You said ‘he’s not… something.’ Are you telling us his Animagus form changed along with the rest of him?"

“I’m sure we couldn’t say, Mr. Seville-Potter. That’s not information we’re free to share.”

"He’s my dad!”

“Maybe if you hugged him again and smiled a bit with it, no teeth, he’d tell you?” Narcissa suggested sweetly.  “Or made him that nice cup of tea that he asked for, without acting the dyspeptic pigeon? Or remembered that you are, in fact, a hundred thirteen now, and not an annoying sulky teenager?”

“Oh, shut up.” It sounded decidedly flustered.

“Don’t you talk to my mother like that, you plonker!” Scorpius swatted him indignantly, and looked hopefully at Narcissa. “ _Are_ you my mother? I mean… D’you want to be? Here?  I’m very knacky on the filial myself, really, even if my mother for most of my life was a great six foot three-to-four inch feral Kodiak masquerading as a mild-mannered florist-slash-educational-administrator.”

"You do get him back, you know?” she said, amused. "Here.”

“Oh, I know. And I’m not abandoning him; he’ll get his potted verminous chrysanthemums and honey-ricotta eclairs on Mother’s Day every year same as always. Because I’m a _good_ son!” He beamed at her. Radiantly. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“I would be delighted.” She kissed his cheek. “I cannot _wait,_ ” she said to Lucius with relish. “To introduce him to Abraxas’ portrait. Never mind my mother and Auntie Walburga. They _will_ cry ugly painted tears of horror and despair, and it will be absolutely _glorious._ ”

“I’m looking forward to meeting Draco, myself,” Scorpius confided to her. “I’ve always wanted a little brother.”

“He’s your father, you great git!"

“My father’s counterpart,” corrected his boon companion loftily. “Internalize it, already. I have, and I plan to enjoy every single moment we’ve got coming there. _And_ to make sure he enjoys it too. No angst and crippling emotional constipation for him, not in this version of his life, not if I, as the newly discovered, encouraging, supportive, indulgent and enabling elder fraternal have anything to say on it.”

“Be afraid,” Al told the Malfoys dolefully. “Be very afraid.”

“No.” Lucius took Silva’s hand again. The long, cool fingers linked comfortably through his. “No, I do not think so. No matter what is coming, I do not believe that I  find indulging myself along those lines acceptable any longer. It would seem quite the waste of effort and energy, actually, considering how everything does appear to work out regardless.”

Narcissa smiled at him softly from Carriera’s arm. “It does,” she agreed. Then… “I truly am sorry, my lovely.  We all hated the thought of deceiving you, but…”

Her lovely stopped, loosed himself gently, took her in his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. She stood on her toes, linking her arms about his neck as she molded herself against him and kissed him back fiercely… Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius could practically see the stars springing from Scorpius’ eyes as he clutched his hands to his heart and mock-swooned. Al reached out and smacked his head. Hard. Scorpius, one hand still covering his heart, and without missing a beat with either stars or swoon, smacked him back. Harder. A loud and extremely indelicate rude guffaw echoed across the empathic link between phoenix and heart at the sight…  Lucius’ lips popped as he, too. grinned. The dark eyes, with just a glint of gold behind, danced at him in enjoyment.

“Come,” Antonio-Maria Silva  told them all. “I cannot speak for the rest of you, but on my part, it has been a very, very long night indeed, and I am quite looking forward to my own breakfast.”

“The surging is settled, then?” Lucius fell into step beside him and took his hand again.

“For the moment.” He raised their linked fingers and pressed his lips to them. “As for the future… It is as our beautiful Jesus says: there is no need to worry on tomorrow now, for tomorrow will bring forth its own troubles, and today’s alone are quite sufficient for any man. As I am quite satisfied with the present moment, it is very good advice indeed, mm?”

“Even for Warders?” he teased.

“We ward so we need not worry, my heart,” his phoenix informed him. “And as it _was_ an extremely productive night, we shall, therefore, leave it at that?”

"An excellent plan,” Lucius agreed, and, quite glowing down at him, reached out and took Carriera’s free hand as they all walked out of the jungle and into the light together.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Castelobruxo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12789984) by [TheSourceOfAll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSourceOfAll/pseuds/TheSourceOfAll)




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